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AND 



OTHER POEMS, 



BY 



Hev. ISJL. R. SU^EES, 



BARNWELL, SO. CA. 




'Non satis est polchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto." — Hob. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

JAS, B. RODGERS CO., PRINTERS, 62 & 54 NORTH SIXTH STREET. 

1871. 



r^^*^ 



u 



.^2 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 

BY THE AUTHOR, 

In the OflSce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



to 

THE MEMORT 
OF 

OF BjiRNWELL^ SOUTH CAROLINA^ 

IS THIS VOLUME INSCRIBED^ 

AS A 

MARK OF GRATITUDE^ 

Br 

THE AUTHOR, 



PREFACE. 



Persons, generally, like to know something about an author, who 
has the presumption to publish a book of poems; for their gratifica- 
tion he would say, that he is a native of So. Ca., born in the town of 
Beaufort, in the year 1812. For many years, he was aflSicted with 
partial deafness, which finally became total. About the beginning of 
the war, he was unemployed, and found leisure to indulge his taste for 
poetic composition, and the present volume is the result of his idle 
hours. 

He makes no pretensions to high poetic talents; but believes, 
nevertheless, that some of these poems will afi"ord entertainment to 
families. As an apology for his imperfections, it may be added, that 
the flower of his life, was devoted to unremitting labors in the 
Christian pulpit, which gave him little or no time to cultivate the art 
of poetry. 

He has included among these poems, several pieces on the death 
of ministers and others. He apologizes for this ; but would refresh 
the minds of his readers, with what Lord Bacon says — "If we listen 
to David's harp, we shall find as many hearse-like harmonies as 

1* 



VI PKEFACE. 

carols, and the pencil of inspiration hath more labored to describe 

the aflSiction of Job, than the felicities of Solomon." 

The light pieces were designed by him for the entertainment of 

the young, and although he would rather not have published them; 

yet he can see no injury that they can possibly do Those, who are 

of a serious turn of mind, will find, no doubt, here and there, passages 

in the religious poems of a consolatory character, that may either 

reconcile them to the providence of God, or elevate their conceptions 

of Him. 

M. Tv. S. 
Barnwell, So. Ca., 

July, 187 1. 






- 




CONTENTS. 






Page. 


Introduction, / . 


. 11 


The Sabbath, ...... 


13 


The Martyrdom of Polycarp, . . , 


. 27 


The Death of Rev. B. Manly, D. D., . 


29 


Praise Ye the Lord, 


. 33 


The Day of Judgment, ... 


36 


What Wilt Thou Have Me to Do ? 


. 38 


Death of Rev. J. L. Shuck, .... 


40 


To Death, ....... 


. 43 


The Three Sisters, ..... 


60 


The Saviour in the Wilderness, .... 


. 52 


The Death of Wm. G. Simms, 


56 


Noah's Dove, . . . . ... 


. 61 


A Hymn of Praise, ..... 


63 


My Brother is Dead, ..... 


. 67 


The Angel of Affliction, .... 


69 


Part of the One hundred and thirty-ninth Psalm, 


. 74 



Vlll 



CONTENTS 



Death of Mr. James Tapper, . 

The Hour of Prayer, .... 

The Twenty-third Psalm, 

Part of the One hundred and thirty-seventh Psalm, 

On the Death of Laura Brown, 

The Fool says, There is no God, 

The Heavenly Rest, .... 

The Death of Rev. Dr. Curtis, 

0, That I had Wings, like a Dove, 

The Boy and his Hoop, .... 

On the Death of Rev. Dr. Wayland, 

Blessed are They that Mourn, 

On the Death of the Hon. A. Patterson, 

Judab, ...... 

On the Death of Jennie M., 

A Prayer for Charity, .... 



Page. 

76 

80 

82 

84 

86 

89 

93 

96 

99 

102 

106 

108 

111 

113 

116 

118 



MORAL PIECES. 



Night Musings, 

The Evening Star, . 

The Polar Star, . 

The Stars, . 

The Moon, 

Moral Night, 

Take Back this Cup, 

Autumn, 

Candor, . 

The Year 1868, 



120 
123 
127 
131 
141 
146 
148 
150 
153 
155 



CONTENTS 



IX 



The Rolling Drum, 

Napoleon to Josephine, 

Woman's Love, . 

Why Do You Weep ? 

The City's Hum, 

My Deafness, 

Spring, . 

The True Friend, . 

The Invitation, . 

The Loss of the Evening Star, 

My Mother, 

The Miser, . 

Disappointment, 

A Wish, 

Bayard, the Knight, 

The Steamer Magnolia, 

The Burning of Barnwell, 

To Julia B , . 

Early Flowers, . 

Kindness, 

I am Coming, 

On the Death of my Pet Dog, 

To Birds Eating my Grapes, 



Page. 
158 
161 
164 
167 
170 
172 
174 
177 
179 
181 
185 
188 
191 
193 
195 
198 
201 
203 
205 
207 
209 
213 
217 



LIGHT PIECES. 



Proserpine, .... 
I am to be Married, Christmas Night, 
To Love, .... 



221 
225 
229 



CONTENTS 



The Husband's Reply, . 

Pandora, 

Love in a Cottage, 

The Crow and the Farmer, 

The Turkey and the Cook, 

The Disappointed Parson, . 



Page. 
239 
242 

245 

248 
258 
262 




INTEODUOTION. 



No order high, of talents do I claim ; 

'Tis not in me to rival Thomas Moore; 
My aspirations are not here for fame, 

For wings, like mine, can but imperfect soar. 

Nor do I strike, for gifted men, my lyre, 
Who love alone of Milton to converse ; 

Or those, whose bosoms, glow with Homer's fire, 
Or see no beauty, but in Spenser's verse. 

I claim not, that, I ever felt the fire. 

That Maro felt, or Flaccus in their day; 

My village Muse will never here aspire 

To vie, who wore the laurel and the bay. 

Like many, I Parnassus' groves, admire, 

Yet may not have within its bow'rs slept 

Nor felt Castalian fountains to inspire 

The strings, that I, so hurriedly have swept. 



Xll INTRODUCTION. 

'Tis but enough, that each within his sphere, 

Shall fill the place, that Providence may give, 

Then beauty, strength, and order will appear, 
And all in peace and harmony shall live. 

The stars, that glitter in the brow of night, 
Tho' far less brilliant than the solar ray, 

Are none less lovely to the gazing sight; 

Nor happy less, tho' darken'd by the day. 

And so I'll sing, tho' rude may be my lyre, 

The holy themes, that Amram's son inflamed, 

And Him, whose bosom, glowed with holy fire. 

When from the Mount, his Gospel he proclaimed. 

■Thence, Horace-like, I'll sing in moral strains; 

Like Alcseus, stir the patriotic fire; 
Like Ovid, roam in spicy groves and plains, 

And Sappho-like touch love's complaining lyre. 





ill 



I 



The Sabbath morn arose in cloudless light, 
A solemn stillness rules in all the air; 

The ploughman hails the day with sweet delight, 
And bids adieu to all laborious care. 



The milkmaid now restrains her merry song; 

The ploughboy whistles not his wonted strain, 
The jaded beasts in silence move along, 

Or rest recumbent on the grassy plain. 

The tinkling bells in softer tones resound. 

And milder speaks the voice of busy men; 

Hi^o hunter's horn excites the weary hound; 

Nor sportsmen chase the deer in forest glen. 

2 (13) 



14 THE SABBATH. 

The gurgling sounds of distant stream disturb 
The solemn silence, brooding all around; 

So still the air, the hum of bee is heard, 

And dewy drops, that trickle to the ground. 

The golden sun a milder lustre pours. 

And softer tints adorn the azure throne; 

The feather'd throng within the grove repose. 
And whisper ditties in an undertone. 

The air around a balmy sweetness yields; 

The gentle rill gives not a murmur loud; 
Nor roses blush so red within the fields; 

Nor frowning looks a solitary cloud. 

The glit'ring scythe on wreaths of dewy grass, 
Inactive lies, reposing at its ease. 

Whose edge, the day before was known to pass 
O'er ripened fields, that dallied in the breeze. 

A softness dwells within the Sabbath morn. 
That mellows feelings of a ruffled mind; 

That lifts the soul, by angry passions torn, 
And teaches man a purer bliss to find. 



THE SABBATH. 15 

Suspended is the din of merchant trade — 

The mill and anvil cease their wonted sound, 

The sons of Mars omit their dress parade, 
And quiet rules in all professions round. 

Grateful the man who earns his daily bread, 

\Yho toils from year to year in cold and heat, 

To rest beside some hedge his weary head. 
And see his children gambol at his feet. 

The tolling bell peals forth from village fane, 
And thither gladsome walk a pious throng; 

Who seek Jehovah's blessing to attain. 

And chant his praises with a holy song. 

There, many a heart, inflamed with sacred fire. 
Beseeches God with eyes suffus'd in tears; 

Whose breathings o'er the Spirit's viewless wire 
Ascend to Him in penitential prayers. 

Around its shrine with broken hearts they bow. 
And seek acceptance in a Saviour's name. 

And wreath their moral, long neglected brow 

With fruits and flowers of the Spirit's flame. 



16 THE SABBATH. 

Ye men, who make pretensions to be great, 
And weakness call, a worship so divine. 

Disdain not those, who crowd the temple gate, 
And pay devotions at its holy shrine. 

Fall many a gift of purest grace divine. 

Is oft unknown to fortune and to fame; 

Full many a saint, forbidden here to shine, 
Will rise in glory with an honored name. 

There is no temple made by human art. 

Where God alone expressly may be found; 

He can his presence everywhere impart. 

And holy thoughts will consecrate the ground, 

The pious man within the forest grove. 

Where scarce is heard the sighing of the breeze, 

May lift his heart to God in holy love. 

And feel a rapture on his bended knees. 

The young in crowds, the Sabbath-Schools attend, 
And wisdom gain, that teachers there impart; 

The sacred Scripture doth its power lend 

To shape their morals, and refine their heart. 



THE SABBATH. 17 

No too much praise on Raikes we can bestow, 
Who first began this system to proclaim; 

As long as rivers to the ocean flow, 

The good will love to venerate his name. 

Rich mental gems may lie embosom'd here ; 

Whose lustre hence may gain immortal praise ; 
And moral buds, that no attention share, 

May bloom to win the world's adoring gaze. 

Perchance from hence some Judson may arise; 

Some moral star our vision to regale ; 
Some female soul commissioned from the skies 

To wear the mantle of a !N^io;htino^ale. 

^o chilling want shall nip the budding mind, 
Or long repress the genius of the poor; 

Their honest toils will here distinctions find, 
And o'er the world, a tide of glory pour. 

With silver tones the preacher earnest speaks, 

And long persuades in higher bliss to shine; 

The gushing tears that trickle down his cheeks, 
Bespeak the power of the theme divine. 

2* 



18 THE SABBATH. 

There is a grandeur in redemption's scheme, 
That often starts the penitential tear; 

That leads the soul to dwell upon the theme, 
Till on its knees, it pleads for mercy there. 

The man of God doth from the desk descend. 
And gazing eyes no more upon him beam; 

But to the river, each his footsteps bend. 

To witness there immersion in the stream. 

With measured steps, the converts now descend, 
And buried are; but soon again arise, 

And so to us, this sacred rite commend. 

As he, who loved in Jordan to baptize. 

Once more they meet around the sacred shrine; 

And vows renew to God, who rules above; 
With grateful hearts receive the bread and wine, 

The sweet memorials of his dying love. 

A grandeur is within this scene divine; 

Where souls renounce their long encouraged 
pride. 
And bow around the altar's sacred shrine. 

To slay the sins that may their love divide. 



THE SABBATH. 19 

Happy they are, who thus to God shall live; 

Who daily seek his frieodship more to know; 
Who can a wrong to mortal man forgive, 

And weep in silence o'er another's woe. 

The Sabbath day should be a day of prayer, 
To fit the soul for nobler praise on high; 

A day to banish all perplexing care,' 

And drink the pleasures of a purer sky. 

Oft sickness may our wishes here oppose 

To worship God, where we are wont to pray; 

Or distance may a barrier interpose, 

And cloud the pleasures of a Sabbath day. 

In days of yore, the priest alone could meet, 
Within the holies of the sacred shrine ; 

And from the cloud, that shrouds the mercy seat, 
Implore the blessing of a gift divine. 

In Heaven's fane, resplendent glories shine. 

And every where God's presence may be found. 

The heart's devotion makes the temple's shrine. 
And every spot is consecrated ground. 



20 THE SABBATH. 

No selfish thought doth there pollute the soul ; 

No toils endured the body to supply ; 
The mind unfettered on will ever roll, 

And hail the grandeur of its changeless sky. 

No point is there to mark the Sabbath's close; 

Eternal anthems will the heart inspire ; 
Fresh scenes of bliss, the Spirit will disclose, 

And strains seraphic peal from every lyre. 

No grief there begs the tribute of a sigh ; 

No weary ones within that temple trod; 
No pensive train is seen with weeping eye; 

No grave to mar the verdure of its sod. 

No passions there inflame the tranquil mind ; 

No pride intrigues to gain itself renown ; 
No thoughts ambitious there a pretext find, 

To wade thro' slaughter to a worthless crown. 

Sweet fields of bliss, forever free from blight; 

No roaring cannon peals its horrid strains; 
No sulph'rous smoke obscures thy azure light; 
. No war steed riots o'er thy verdant plains. 



THE SABBATH. 21 

But peaceful roll thy waves of living gold, 
Empurpling all thy land with roses fair, 

Whose lovely scenes in grandeur yet untold, 
Forbid the shedding of a pensive tear. 

No nation can without the Sabbath rise; 

Immoral deeds will w^eaken all its powers ; 
And spread around, all o'er its native skies, 

A gloom to mar the fairest of its flowers. 

O'er thee, O Erin ! came a dismal blight 

Of Sabbath days by thee neglected long; 

That doomed thy youths to live in moral night. 
And waste their strength in efforts to do wrong. 

ISTor yet dost thou enjoy the Sabbath's boon ; 

For oft neglected is thy house of prayer. 
While secret, thou dost crowd the dark saloon. 

And pass in crime the holy Sabbath there. 

'Twill not be thine to hail a cloudless sky ; 

Nor long the blessings of a freedom share; 
Nor worthy thought in other nations' eye. 

Till thou shalt learn the Sabbath to revere. 



22 THE SABBATH. 

We read in tears the darkness of thy gloom; 

How deep it shrouds the splendor of thy mind, 
And would, that thou couldst burst the moral tomb, 

And rise to be the favor'd of mankind. 

O'er Scotia's clime, we see a brighter sky; 

A land with freedom, and with science fraught, 
Whose moral features, please the gazing eye, 

And feast the soul with elevated thought. 

'Twas here that Knox enwreath'd his brow with fame, 
Who made the vices of the queen his theme. 

And threaten'd vengeance in Jehovah's name 

To all, who spurn'd the reformation's scheme. 

A noble band, reformers tho' they be ; 

Who sought to strangle vice of every kind, 
And set mankind from superstition free, 

To bask beneath the freedom of the mind. 

Star after star, bedeck'd her azure bright; 

A Chalmers rose of intellect sublime. 
And poured around a flood of golden light. 

That bath'd the shores of every Christian clime. 



THE SABBATH. 23 

Her Thomson sung the Seasons all sublime; 

Her CampbelFs Hope enlarged her growing 
^ fame ; 

Her Pollok wreathed her brow with Course of Time ; 

And royal Burns immortalized her name. 

In moral strength, she stands supreme alone, 
The brightest jewel of the English crown ; 

Whose light reflects the splendor of her throne, 
And adds new lustre to her great renown. 

The Sabbath day doth like the oasis seem ; 

Where pilgrims rest, their labors to review, 
Or like the sparkling, cool, refreshing stream, 

That vigor gives, their journey to renew. 

'Tis on the Sabbath, that the clergy speak, 
To rouse the soul with energy divine ; 

To turn the proud into the patient meek. 

And make the statesman in the Senate shine. 

Ah ! dismal scenes would mantle us around. 

If it were thought a crime to bow in prayer. 

If Sabbath bells should cease their merry sound. 
And pulpits fail their warnings to declare. 



24 THE SABBATH. 

Another pope, like Clement might arise; 

And curses dark may fulminate indeed ; 
Another Charles may strangle freedom's cries, 

And force obedience to the English Creed. 

Nor Pitt, nor Burke, unrivalFd in their call ; 

ISTor JSTelson with the splendor of his fame, 
Compar'd to Whitfield and to Robert Hall, 

Has shed such lustre o'er the English name. 

Oh ! France for thee, it was a gloomy hour. 

When Voltaire taught the Bible to disdain, 

When sank the glory of religious power ; 

And thou hadst learn'd the Sabbath to profane. 

^Twas he, who made thee in thy sorrows weep; 

Who scattered far the horrors of a blight; 
Who made thy passions, like a tempest sweep ; 

And cloth'd thy future with a dismal night. 

No voice was heard within thy fane to sing; 

So banish'd thence was all religious care; 
That trembling faith, look'd on with drooping wing. 

And wept to see her shrine neglected there. 



THE SABBATH. 25 

E^en now methinks, I hear the dismal knell, 
Tolling the horrors of thy dreadful state, 

When all thine altars in confusion fell, 

And perjurM hearts refused to change thy fate. 

The only star that lit thy moral sky; 

That pointed man to scenes of future joy; 
He gazed upon with a malignant eye. 

And artful sought, its glory to destroy. 

But Phoenix-like, that Star of Faith arose ; 

And brighter shone within its holy sphere; 
And o'er the desert, bloom'd again the rose. 

To shed once more its sweetness on the air. 

Sweet day of rest ! immortal be thy praise ; 

Thou dearest emblem of the one above ; 
To thee, I'll strike my harp in grateful lays. 

And sing the wonders of redeeming love. 




THE MARTYRDOM OF POLYCARP. 



[This aged pastor of the Church of Smyrna, was burnt at the stake, when 
very old, and the soldiers are said to have wept at the scene.] 



His hoary locks huDg o'er his brow, 

Like foams on crested wave; 
His noble spirit would not bow 

To find a coward's grave— 
"Go call your beasts, and let them prey, 

From good, I will not turn; 
No human creed will I obey. 

Than yield, I'd rather burn." 

Tho' paleness sat upon his cheek. 
Yet fears he did not know. 

And when his lips began to speak 
In eloquence of woe; 



(27) 



28 MAETYEDOM OF POLYCAEP. 

The soldiers then, with tearful eye, 
Look'd down abashed with shame, 

To see this aged Christian die 
Amid the burning flame. 

'No haughty looks, assum'd his face; 

No fierceness in his eye; 
No wrath, nor vengeance could you trace; 

No gestures to defy; 
But calm, and firm, with bearing high. 

Like foeman in the van; 
He kept the banner in his eye, 

And died a saintly man. 

And O, that cause, for which he died, 

Rolls like a mighty wave. 
And nations then, that cross denied. 

Now seek its balm to save ; 
And read his death, with broken sigh, 

And o'er his ashes weep. 
And mausoleums rear on high, 

His memory to keep. 



ON THE DEATH OF REV. DR. MANLY. 



Thy spirit still is here, 
And it doth visit me, where'er I stray, 
In joy or grief, when sky is dark or clear, 

As often as I pray. 

Ah! we do miss thee here. 
Thy guidance, friendship and thy Christian love, 
That sooth'd our fears, and dried the gushing tear. 

And pointed us above. 

As in the days of yore, 
Methinks, I hear thy voice in cadence sweet. 
As when its music swelFd from dome to floor; 

Where friends were Avont to meet. 

3* (29) 



30 DEATH OF EEV. DE. MANLY. 

Thou, like the early dew, 
Or fragrant air, or sun's declining ray, 
Or fading colors of the rainbow hue. 

Didst peaceful pass away. 

I survive, the younger. 
Commissioned here the Gospel's plan to teach, 
To break the bread of life to those, that hunger, 

And to the poor to preach. 

Not as the dove, I mourn; 
Nor nightingale, that sings in plaintive strain. 
When its lov'd mate is from its bosom torn — 

We hope to meet again. 

Long will I think of thee; 
At home, abroad, in the glow of sunshine. 
Or when dark clouds grow ominous to me — 

My heart will throb to thine. 

Beneath the star-lit sky, 
'Mid floral scenes, when early Spring in glee 
Beams her radiant beauty on the eye — 

I will remember thee. 



DEATH OF EEV. DE. MANLY. 31 

Grateful to me the task, 
To wreath a garland of some fadeless vine, 
And Heaven's holy benediction ask, 

To consecrate thy shrine. 

In my wake or dreaming; 
In thoughts serious, or light, old or new, 
Memory, to its holy trust in keeping. 

Thy image will renew. 

There is another life — 
The voice of man within doth speak it high — 
A life that knows no pain, no jarring strife, 

Xo tears to dim the eye. 

The shining stars above; 
And angels' primal songs; the rolling spheres; 
Man, earth, sea, and the warbling birds in grove. 

Proclaim it in our ears. 

The dying hear the sound. 
In angels' whispers; in their rustling wings; 
In melodies, that bathe the soul ' around, 

And hope, that succor brings. 



32 DEATH OF EEV. DE. MANLY. 

Oh! thee, I'll ne'er forget; 
My heart will love upon thy name to dwell- 
Thy sun, with me, shall never fade or set, 

Tho' now, I say, farewell! 




t( 



PRAISE YE THE LORD." 



The works of God are marvellous to me; 

What wonders in creation here do shine! 
Wonders! and yet more wonderful is He, 

Who wrought them by a genius all divine; 
Whose glory far excels our highest thought, 
Whose ways unknown, tlio' often by us sought. 

And ye, who are the sons of sacred light — 

The angel stars, that gild the brow of Heav'n; 

Who never once have seen, nor felt a night; 
But to whose souls eternal light is giv'n, 

Who circle dazzling round His holy throne — 

Praise Him with harp, with voice, and Him alone. 

(33) 



34 "PEAISE YE THE LOED." 

And ye, who here, a sovereign power wield, 
Ye men of genius, or of lowly mind; 

Who gaze on stars, or cultivate the field; 

And ye soft maidens; and ye matrons kind; 

And all ye smiling, laughing, children throng — 

Praise Him with lute, with timbrel and with song. 

And all ye beasts of old, or recent birth; 

Ye birds of simple dress, or plumage fair; 
Ye insects, that do fly, or crawl the earth; 

Ye flowers common, or of beauty rare; 
Ye huge leviathans; and ye finny throng — 
Praise Him aloud, with grateful, joyous song. 

Ye Seasons; Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring; 

Ye running brooks, that silv^er music make; 
Ye thunder's peals, borne on electric wing; 

Ye smiling valleys, and ye glassy lake; 
Yea, all that live, and move in every zone — 
Praise Him for gifts, and all his wonders own. 

And all ye stars, that twinkle in your light; 

Ye solar orb, the centre of the sphere; 
Ye silver moon, the empress of the night; 

Ye evening star, so beautifully fair; 



"PEAISE YE THE LORD." 35 

Ye milky way; ye fadeless Northern flame — 
Praise Him on high, and all his wonders name. 

And ye, the winds, that soft or fiercely blow; 

Ye oaks; ye pines; and ye magnolia fair; 
And ye volcanoes, with your burning glow; 

And all ye elements, water, fire, air. 
And ye fair bow, that promis'd good portend — 
Praise Him in love, and praise him without end. 






V 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 



'Tis said, the world shall pass away in blaze, 

A heaven new shall out the old be made; 
The Spirit's power, the sheeted dead shall raise, 

And all before the throne of God parade; 
Deeds good and bad, by Him shall be reviewed. 

Eternal bliss to those, who well have done. 
And shame — who have by vices been subdued. 

Or promised good; but never, virtue won. 

Shall mortal man, alone indif'rent be? 

Whose bliss is pendent on that dreadful day ; 
Shall he withhold his thoughts, and never see? 

The vast concourse, the Judge will there array; 

(36) 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 37 

Ah! Let me feel the scene, howe'er it frights, — 
All nature rocking, like a stormy sea; 

And Gabriel on the sno^y mountain heights, 

Proclaim that now, the Judgment Day shall be. 

Methinks I see him, who in Eden's bower. 

Successful sought our parents to deceive, 
Come forth, with brow deep scarr'd with thunders' 
power, 

Holding his chains, his footsteps to relieve; 
Then stand erect, with eyeballs blazing bright. 

And hears his sentence with malicious air. 
And, like a meteor in a dismal night. 

Shoots horrid down the portal of despair. 

And tho' within my mind, I see that hour, 

Xor man, nor angel can the time foresay; 
Concealed it is from all created power; 

But His, who has determined on the day; 
Be when that time, of hopes, of fears, of fates; 

May I before its bar in peace appear. 
And safely pass thro' heaven's golden gates. 

And be a star to glitter fadeless there. 



WHAT WILT THOU HAVE ME TO DO ? 


Go, 


and 


repent without delay. 




And seek a holy life to live — 


Go, 


toil 


where duty points the way, 




And 


learn 'tis God-like to forgive. 


Go, 


if th 


ou hast, and feed the poor, 




And 


soothe the troubled, pensive breast — 


Go, 


nurse the sick, the lame restore, 




And 


guide the weary to his rest. 


Go, 


and do good, where'er you may. 




The 


proud reprove, exalt the meek — 


Reclaim 


the erring from his way. 




And 


teach the rude, in love to speak. 


(38) 
, 







WHAT WJLT THOU HAVE ME TO DO ? 39 

Go, lead the blind, who trembling gropes; 

Whose brow is shaded deep with gloom; 
Inspire his soul with Christian hopes, 

And ease his passage to the tomb. 

And if the orphan, thou shalt meet. 
And widow, who may needy be — 

Turn not away; but kindly greet, 

And God, who sees, will honor thee. 

Repel no form, howe'er meanly drest. 
That wears the human face divine; 

For there may lurk within that breast, 
A soul as fair and loved as thine. 

No boon expect, for mercy shown — 

Perchance, some scorning lip may hiss; 

But he, the Prince, thy love will own, 
And crown thee on the field of bliss. 




ON THE DEATH OF REV. J. L. SHUCK. 

[This faithful minister, after spending some years of labor in China and 
California, died at Barnwell, S. C] 



^Twas thine in peace to die, 
Tremblingly, thou didst walk where martyrs trod, 
And patient listen to the voice of God, 

That summon'd thee on high. 

Thou wast kind and loving. 
Rarely hadst from duty's path departed; 
But strong in faith, pure and faithful-hearted. 

Didst to the "Saviour cling. 

Dying, thou didst not weep; 
But calmly on thy household gaze. 
And Heaven importune to guide their ways 

In their affliction deep. 

(40) 



DEATH OF REV. J. L. SHUCK. 41 

Thy life was not a blank — 
Thy sword was girded on for usefulness, 
And thou, a witness of God's truthfulness, 

Hadst not from duty shrank. 

To bow at Mercy's shrine, 
The bread of life to break, and peace to give, 
And errors of the thoughtless to forgive. 

Were gifts, peculiar thine. 

We sigh'd, and hush'd our breath. 
As tolling bell, and measur'd steps, and hearse 
Graveward, told of that primeval curse, 

Which doom'd our race to death. 

^ear, is an infant's tomb, — 
Thine own, now side by side, ye peaceful sleep 
In graveyard sod, where trailing willows weep. 

And fragrant roses bloom. 

Not thine alone the tomb; 
We all do fade, and some alas! too soon. 
Who were to us, as to the night, the moon — 

To cheer our social gloom. 

4- 



42 . DEATH OF EEV. J. L. SHUCK. 

Could we thy life regain, 
With halo light, so chasten'd bright as thine, 
And graces, that were wont in thee to shine, 

Zion would smile again. 

Thou speakest still below, 
In works, that in their soft reflections shine, 
Like twilight, when the solar rays decline. 

Yielding a mellow glow. 

Farewell! thy life is o'er; 
In brighter skies and purer scenes we'll meet. 
And joyous live, and walk the golden street 

To part us never more. 




A 



TO DEATH. 



Ah! 'tis thine to rule an empire wide; 

The beautiful and fair, 
And man in all his vanity and pride, 

Falls down before thee here, 
And slumber in the dismal, gloomy shade; 

O Death! 
To rot in dust, from which they all were made. 

Low in sea, where eyes have never swept; 

Within its coral caves. 
Thousands sink, unpitied and unwept. 

In stormy wrecking waves; 
And yet, thou art not satiate with the throng; 

O Death! 
That sinking ships do drag with them along. 

(43) 



44 TO DEATH. 

Thou hast a shaft in every living brood, 

Of man, of bird and beast, 
That time impels, and poisonous food. 

Mingled with every feast; 
Till lifeless all upon this earth they fall; 

O Death! 
4nd crowd within thy dark sepulchral hall. 

Far upon the mountain's summit, high; 

And deep within the vale; 
Upon the sea, or household nigh. 

In gentle breeze or gale; 
Both time and space mark not thy rapid wing; 

O Death! 
As homeward, thou dost all thy trophies bring. 

No tears have ever bathed thy pallid cheek; 

Nor mov'd thy breast by sigh; 
But marble cold, thou canst not speak 

To dry the weeping eye; 
For pulseless, thou canst no emotion feel; 

O Death! 
Tho' broken hearts in tears to thee appeal. 



TO DEATH. 45 

Monuments to thee on earth abound; 

No place, where man hath trod, 
But sad memorials there are found 

Of thee, a scourging rod. 
Whose strong impartial hand doth strike low down ; 

O Death! 
The man obscure, and him of great renown. 

In gay halls, where rings the merry laugh, 

Thou comest with thy lance, 
And scatt'rest their pleasure, like the chaff, 

Who sport in drink and dance; 
Glooming those scenes once lately fiU'd with mirth; 

O Death! 
Leaving behind a desolated hearth. 

Thou'rt no friend to aristocracy — 

The proud and sceptred king, 
And he, that holds, or not a legacy. 

And every living thing; 
The rich, poor, bond, free, by what condition kept; 

O Death! 
Are sought by thee, unfavored and unwept. 



46 TO DEATH. 

Every rose that blooms^ and blade of grass, 

And spicy shrub and tree, 
Fade, when icy winds do o'er them pass, 

And drooping, yield to thee, 
Till earth is laden with thy leafy show'r; 

O Death! 
Sad memorials of thy wasting power. 

Not a moment's rest 'tis thine to know; 

But ever on the wing, 
Thou mov'st, like the ocean's restless flow, 

With scythe of wondrous swing. 
Reaping afar all populated sphere; 

O Death! 
Awing the world by thy tremendous bier. 

Wrecking tempest has its time to howl. 

And sea, its waves to dash. 
And dark threat'ning clouds to scowl. 

And lightnings fierce to flash; 
But seasons all are fit for thee to blight; 

O Death! 
And wrap thy victims in a sable night. 



TO DEATH. 47 

In thy halls, there's not a beaming smile; 

Nor blushing face to greet; 
Nor polish'd form of man; nor creature vile; 

Nor tramp of busy feet; 
But fleshless bones and skulls around are seen; 

O Death! 
Glooming the spot, where loveliness hath been. 

When dear, loving ones from us depart, 

We decorate their tomb. 
And hope with flowers to soothe the heart. 

And dissipate the gloom; 
But no sweet rose, nor ever-blooming flower; 

O Death! 
Can e'er recall the breath, that feels thy power. 

Within thy sphere, a gloomy silence reigns; 

There's not a breath, or sound; 
All along thy wide-extended plains 

Is solitude profound; 
For those, who by thy shaft are forc'd to yield; 

O Death! 
Do find their lips, by thee forever seal'd. 



48 TO DEATH. 

In thy realms, there's no distinction made 

Between the bond and free; 
The peasant, and the man of princely grade, 

Are decomposed by thee; 
Nor carest thou, a royal urn to keep; 

O Death! 
But blendest all in one impartial heap. 

The afflicted poor do find a friend 

In thee, whom thou dost bless. 
Free from cares, that penury attend, 

And feel them no distress; 
But calmly smile upon life's stormy roar; 

O Death! 
Whose fiercest blast can harm their souls no more. 

The good man dreads not the gloomy tomb, 

For, like the scented rose. 
He well knows his life will fairer bloom, 

And richer sweets disclose, 
And rainbow hues adorn his future sky; 

O Death! 
And make it Paradise for him to die. 



TO DEATH. 49 

Thou'rt the gate that opens up on high 

A passage to its joy, 
And saints impatient breathe a sigh, 

Its pleasures to enjoy; 
For they do love the Saviour's face to greet; 

Death! 
And lay their laurels at his holy feet. 

If they should die upon sea or land, 

Or where they chance to roam. 
Loving angels on the Spirit-strand, 

Will bear them to their home. 
And crown them there with wreaths of holy gem; 

O Death! 
To live in love, and unity with them. 

Then welcome thou to them, late or soon, 

To bear them up on high. 
Where God will be their sun and moon. 

Flooding with beams the sky; 
Beneath whose gorgeous, glorious light, 

O Death! 
They'll bask, nor feel a momentary night. 



THE THREE SISTERS. 



Three sisters once in beauty clad, 

Stood full before my face; 
To me, it was a season glad, 

Such lovely forms to trace; 
So graceful did each one appear. 

So beautiful to me, 
That neither seem'd my choice to share; 

So equal were the three. 

But when I nearer came to see 
These sisters of the sky — 

These angelic beauties, three, 
So pleasing to my eye; 

(50) 



THE THREE SISTERS. 51 

A glow of beauty, flushed the cheek, 

Of one upon the right, 
That to my inner soul did speak, 

And filFd me with delight. 

And then I crown'd her peerless brow. 

With many a floral gem; 
When her two sisters, smiling now, 

Approv'd the diadem; 
And said, dear sister Charity, 

We Faith and Hope agree; 
Between us in disparity — 

We yield the palm to thee. 

They kiss'd, and vow'd, they'll never part; 

Then breath'd their love on me; 
That Hope will cheer man's pensive heart. 

And Faith, his guide will be ; 
And Charity, with balmy smiles. 

Will soothe affliction's rod. 
Till weary man shall reach the skies 

To live in peace with God. 



THE SAVIOUR IN THE WILDERNESS. 



[The following poem was suggested, from Milton's "Paradise Regained."] 



The setting sun sank low within the West; 

When came apace a darkness all profound; 
When birds and beasts, impatient sought their rest, 

And solemn stillness brooded all around ; 
When he, the Saviour, with a tranquil mind, 

Unsinning, yet for man had lov'd to weep. 
Now cold and chilly, sought some place to find, 

Where he in peace and quietude may sleep. 

Beneath a wide-extended branching tree. 

Whose foliage shielded from the dewy night. 

He laid him down, from cares and trouble free, 
The Prince of Peace, the w^orld's eternal light; 

(52) 



THE SAVIOUR IN THE WILDERNESS. 53 

But short he slept, for near the tempter stood, 

With horrid dreams, opposed him in his sleep. 

While thunder's peal, in dreadful sullen mood, 

RolFd deafening o'er the valley and the deep. 

Quick flashes gleam'd along the murky sky. 

That made the darkness, visible the more; 
And pitchy clouds, appalling to the eye. 

Began in ceaseless torrents now to pour; 
And stormy winds, pent up in stony caves, 

E-ush'd forth in terror in destructive gale, 
And vex'd the trees and ocean sleeping waves, 

Till man and beast, affrighted, turn'd them pale. 

And tho' thy form was but imperfect clad. 

Thou patient Son of God, who stood'st thee 
there ; 
Yet in thy visage, there was nothing sad, 

Nor any signs to indicate despair; 
But firm and steady, like the mountain brow, 

Didst fearless brave the raging tempest wild. 
And scorn the tempter's art to make thee bow — 

In strength a God, in innocence a child. 



54 THE SAVIOUE IX THE WILDEEXESS. 

Nor didst thou quail, tlio' Satan's deepest wile 

Was tax'd, thy noble purpose to defeat, 
Whose furies sought to frighten thee, the while. 

And force thee from thy mission to retreat; 
Whose horrid ghosts, with yells and dismal sound. 

Made hideous more the darkness of the night; 
Yet 'mid these threats and dismal noise around. 

Thou didst defy their vile-directed might. 

Dawn's golden finger still'd the thunder's roar. 

And chas'd away the clouds, that dimm'd the 
sky; 
And winds and waves were heard to howl no more, 

Nor horrid spectres to affright the eye; 
And flowers, and shrubs, and plants, that drooping 
lav, 

And trees, whose limbs were by the tempest torn. 
And frighten'd birds in grove and leafy spray, 

Now hail'd with joy the sweet return of morn. 

And thou, the Prince of Peace, like rising sun. 
That feels no cloud to dim his golden light. 

Didst cheerful rise, with vict'ry nobly won. 
And walk, a God, to scatter moral night; 



THE SAVIOUE IN THE WILDERNESS. 55 

And love and beauty on thy footsteps throng'd, 
And hearts despondent hail'd thy coming reign, 

And angel's harps, '' Good will to man," prolongM, 
And earth and sky, joined in the sweet refrain. 




(jii ^•<^j»» 



0]Sr THE 



DEATH OF WM. GILMORE SIMMS, LL. D, 



When rumor doth the mournful tidings tell 

Of some lost Prince, who lov'd to give relief; 

The trembling crowd, at sound of tolling bell, 

Bewail his death, with loud and frequent grief. 

Not so would I deplore thy peaceful end, 

Whose death has plum'd thy wings in bliss 
to soar; 

Whose genius free, its powers to extend, 

Will rise to height, unknown to thee before. 

No vulgar grief shall here distress my heart; 

But silent love, my bosom shall inflame; 
No pompous praise, refined by studied art, 

Can more advance the glory of thy name. 

(56) 



DEATH OF WM. G. SIMMS, LL. D. 57 

When thy young eye gazed on the cloudy night, 
That darkling shrouded all thy future sky; 

Thou, undismay'd, didst soar with eagle's flight. 
Till frowning fortune deigned on thee to smile. 

Thou, like a star, that shines in higher sphere, 
Stood'st far above the level of mankind; 

And those alone, who mov'd in orbit near, 

Could feel the grandeur of thy gifted mind. 

Thy mind was like the fountain in its flow; 

Or sea, whose wealth must ever be untold; 
Whose thoughts, like diamonds, sparkling in their 
glow. 

Had o'er our sky in stately beauty rolFd. 

More gifted bards than thou have tun'd their lyre. 
And sang in sweeter, and in loftier lays; 

But none, who could such noble thoughts inspire; 
Or wore so fresh, their laurels and their bays. 

No titles gave an honor to thy name — 

'Twas virtue, valor, liberty and worth. 

That shed a splendor o'er thy mental fame. 

And made thee Nature's nobleman on earth. 



58 DEATH OF WM. G. SIMMS, LL. D. 

Thy love of fame, tho' strong, could not succeed 
To chill the promptings of a virtuous power; 

Thy generous heart would o'er affliction bleed, 
And aid Avithout the motive of a dower. 

Like some clear stream thy friendship onward flow'd, 
That hearts refreshed, like Summer's genial 
show'r — 

That cheer'd the bosom, low with sorrow bow'd. 
And breathed the sweetness of a fragrant flow'r. 

No glittering crown, achieved by unjust pow'r, 
Can long retain its splendor, and its trust, 

The deeds of love, alone, like fadeless flow'r. 
Will sweets diffuse, tho' buried in the dust. 

And he, who wins his fame on battle-field, 

"Whose laurels freshen with the crimson flow. 

Whene'er the arts of war to peace shall yield. 
Will find his laurels, drooping on his brow. 

Not so with those, who strive for moral fame; 

Who patient walk the paths, that prophets trod; 
Who daily toil, the erring to reclaim. 

And lead them back to virtue, and to God. 



DEATH OF WM. G. SIMMS, LL. D. 59 

Earth's noblest births are evanescent things; 

They glare on ns, like meteors of the sky, 
The dust of subjects, and their scepter'd kings, 

Within the grave, shall undistinguished lie. 

In the Magnolia Cemetery, thou 

Shalt peaceful sleep, 'mid scenes of floral bloom. 
And loving ones, with cypress on their brow. 

Will garlands weave to deck thy rural tomb. 

The great and good, will own thy mental pow'r; 

The patriot's heart will bow before thy shrine. 
And stranger ones will bring some votive dower, 

And make, ere long, thy grave, a Palestine. 

Repentant Scotia, tho' neglected long. 

Late rear'd a column to his gifted name; 

Who sang her annals in immortal song. 

And high advanced the glory of her fame. 

We too shall some memorial to thee raise — 

Some breathing marble from a high regard. 

That long shall stand in honor of thy praise, 
The friend, historian, patriot, and bard. 



60 



DEATH OF WM. G. SIMMS, LL. D. 



All! Genius here will on thy tombstone weep- 
A brilliant star is stricken from her sky; 

Whose mental gems, in caskets she will keep, 
And guard them ever with a jealous eye. 



NOAH'S DOVE. 



The dove released from Noah's hand 

Flew far away on rapid wing, 
And sought in vain from off the land 

Some fresh memorials thence to bring; 
With trembling fears, and anxious eyes, 

Her path retraced, whence she had flown; 
Nor once delayed along the skies; 

But sped her to the ark alone. 

And so with me, whene'er it be, 

I stray from God, my dearest friend, 

And search forbidden scenes to see, 

And find my toils, a fruitless end; 

6 (61) 



62 NOAH'S DOVE. 

With joyous steps, may I retrace 

The paths, that I have careless trod, 

Nor rest, till I shall see Thy face, 

And find a home, in Thee, my God. 




A HYMN OF PRAISE. 



On heaven's brow of azure blue — 

O! God, I turn my eye, 
And thy reflected image view 

Within its cloudless sky; 
Nor storm, nor calm, nor day, nor night, 

That image, shall impair. 
For in that vaulted dome of light, 

'Twill shine unfading there. 

And to the stars, that gem the skies. 
Thou givest all their light — 

Thou lendest to their sparkling eyes 
The rays, that gild the night; 



(63) 



64 A HYMN OF PEAISE. 

And when I view the diamond dome, 

I feel a tranquil mind, 
To think ere long ^twill be my home, 

Where lost ones, I shall find. 



I feel no fear in earthquake's pow'r. 

Nor in the howling seas, 
Nor in volcano's flaming show'r. 

Nor stormy wrecking breeze, 
Nor thunder's peal, nor lightning red, 

Nor elements, that be; 
In all, I feel no shrinking dread. 

For they are ruled by Thee. 



But when thy voice, O! God, is heard 

By me, in rosy bow'r, 
In rippling stream, in warbling bird. 

And in the blushing flo\v'r, 
In insect hum, in balmy breeze, 

And in the fragrant air. 
It leads me low upon my knees. 

In thankfulness and prayer. 



A HYMN OF PRAISE. • 65 

I feel thy Spirit here hath shed, 

Its gifts upon my soul, 
And far removed the clouds, that spread 

Their folds, like darkling scroll; 
And pour'd upon my faith-lit eye 

Elysian fields of peace, 
Where rainbow hues shall arch its sky. 

And weariness shall cease. 



I would not pray, for dearest one. 

In kingly halls to shine; 
Nor wreath his brow, with honor won, 

At risk of peace divine; 
But guide his spirit to Thy throne. 

To share Thy pardoning love. 
And be a gem, to Thee alone. 

To deck thy crown above. 



Altho' this world, to me is fair. 
And grateful to my eyes; 

I would not wish to linger here, 
When Thou shalt bid me rise; 

6* 



66 ' A HYMN OF PEAISE. 

For I can richer scenes enjoy 
In that celestial sphere; 

Where grace shall all my sins destroy^ 
And glorify me there. 

Aid and sustain, when I am old, 

And on me loving smile, 
That I bright visions may behold, 

With Faith's unclouded eye; 
And see that blest, immortal seat. 

Where sin is known no more. 
Where I, a welcome, there may meet. 

With lov'd ones, gone before. 




MY BROTHER IS DEAD. 



I had a lone brother, all loving was he, 

The sunshine of bliss around us did play; 

And we liv^d on in love, all happy and free, 

Ever dreaming that death was far, far away. 

On a morning lovely, as April doth bring. 

With roses and fragrance and sweet balmy air. 

With music of birds, as they joyously sing; 

He came to his home, all sad with despair. 

Oh ! never can I forget his strange look. 

As he tremblingly lean'd upon my right arm. 

And kissed me, and wept, and nervously shook. 
And said for himself, he dreaded no harm. 

(67) 



68 MY BEOTHEE, IS DEAD. 

My sister for thee, O! for thee, do I weep; 

For when the cold grave, my body shall tomb; 
J^o love of a brother, thy friendship will keep, 

And shield thy lone heart from sorrow and gloom. 

'Tis painful to part; yet I feel I must die; 

The life sand is ebbing fast to its close — 
O! take me to rest, and let me there lie, 

Till death shall arrive, and give me repose. 

I came to his bedside, all mourning and weak — 
I watch 'd the big tear, that bathed his dark eye; 

I gazed on the crimson, that mantPd his cheek — 
Too mournfully telling, my brother must die. 

The tears, that bedimm'd his lustrous dark eyes, 
Were not for reflections of wrong he had done; 

But thought he of me, my sorrows and sighs. 

When death shall dissever these hearts, that are 
one. 

O! long will I mourn in sadness alone 

For the loss of that love, that with him has fled, 

And music's sweet voice, and friendship's dear tone. 
Will fail, as I think, my brother is dead. 



THE ANGEL OF AFFLICTION. 



The evening breeze was dallying with my cheek; 

When in the shady grove, I chanced to stray, 
And there was none, around with me to speak. 

Of all the pretty ones, I saw that day; 
When strange, before me rose a virgin fair. 
Whose features wore a melancholy air. 

There was a sorrow in. her downcast eye, 
A soften'd, thoughtful, meditative brow, 

With a loose robe of darksome col or' d dye. 

Like nun, when she assumes the holy vow; 

On her I gazed, and felt me very sad 

To see her in that mournful habit clad. 

(69) 



70 THE ANGEL OF AFFLICTION. 

And long on me, she fixed her downcast eye; 

Then came towards me, with a silent stride, 
And breathed upon my lips a pensive sigh. 

That banished all my peace and cherished pride ; 
That made me feel, like one on ocean cast, 
Without a rudder or a sailing mast. 

And long I strove to flee her presence there; 

But she would follow me, where'er I stray'd. 
At home, in crowded marts, she would appear. 

At church, theatres, balls, and masquerade; 
Until I felt her mission was divine. 
To sober and reclaim this heart of mine. 

I sought to smile upon the vernal year. 

And garlands wove of roses blushing gay. 

And breath'd their fragrance in the passing air, 
And watch'd the sunset, golden-tinted ray; 

And yet no lovely scene, no warbling bird, 

Had in my heart, a note of pleasure stirr'd. 

Happy I seem'd before I saw this maid. 

And pleasure took to gaze on starry night, 



THE ANGEL OF AFFLICTION. 71 

And felt a thrill at music's sweet parade, 

And at Aurora's dawning golden light; 
I lov'd them all, the sun, moon, stars and sea; 
But now their charms seem strangely lost to me. 

For since she came, and stood her by my side, 
I neither laugh, nor merry do appear. 

And scenes, once grateful to my cherish 'd pride, 
Now fail to yield me their accustomed cheer. 

And thoughts of wrong, committed in the past, 

Now o'er my brow, a gloomy shadow cast. 

^^Ah!" said she, while tears bedew'd her eye, 
"I see you do not love my darksome form, 

And all impatient for my absence sigh; 

But I will train you for a coming storm, 

And you shall rise superior to the hour. 

And bless the memory of my pensive power. 

"Know thou, beneath this darksome robe of mine, 
There is concealed a gem of purest ray, — 

A moral glory, that within doth shine. 

And will reveal to thee a brighter day. 



72 THE ANGEL OF AFFLICTION. 

As sunbeams make the hidden diamonds glow, 
That all around, a dazzling lustre throw. 

"Twas I, who led the prophets by the hand; 

Thro' me, the dross of sin was purged away, 
I gave them strength in duty's path to stand. 

And promised all their labors to repay; 
I led them thro' dark wilderness and sea. 
And now in bliss, they all rejoice in me. 

"Without me, thou canst never happy be. 

All grandeur here will pale upon thy soul. 

And thou wilt find, alone, a friend in me, 

Who faithful will conduct thee to the goal. 

Where thou shalt bask beneath a pm^er sky. 

And tears no more shall dim thy pensive eye." 

She spoke, then soared her on her dusky wing, 
Far up into the azure mellow light. 

And odors sweet, began on me to fling. 

That made me look on her with strange delight; 

I clasp'd my hands, and felt I'd lost a friend. 

Who virtue gave, with evils to contend. 



THE ANGEL OF AFFLICTION. 



73 



To-day, my heart, I better understand; 

More spiritual, my thoughts within; 
For future bliss, on firmer grounds I stand. 

And less inclined to err from inner sin; 
That angel form has changM its gloomy air; 
And now she seems to me, white-robed and fair. 




A PART OF THE 139TH PSALM VERSIFIED. 



O Lord! thou searchest, and knowest me well, 
My risings and sittings, and where I do dwell, 
And even my thoughts, tho' from others conceal'd, 
Afar off to Thee, are clearly revealed. 

The path, that I walk, is compass 'd by Thee, 
And thy watchful eyes, my slumbers do see. 
Awake or asleep, on land or the sea, 
My ways, O God! are all known unto thee. 

No words on my tongue, but thou knowest them all. 
Long ere from my lips, in accents they fall; 
Behind and before, Fm walPd up by Thee, 
And thy hands are upon me, where'er I may be. 

(74) 



A PAET OF THE 139TH PSALM. 75 

O! wonderful is such knowledge to me, 

More deep and profound than the depth of the sea, 

It fills every atom, pervades every place, 

No power I have, its wonders to trace 

O! where shall I flee, and thy Spirit not find? 
What spot on this earth is unknown to thy mind? 
If upward I go to the heavenly sphere. 
Thy presence, I'll feel, pervading it there. 

Or if in the grave, with the dead I appear. 
Thy presence will go, its darkness to cheer, 
No spot do I walk, no place I may be; 
But thou, O God! art present with me. 

Or if with the wings of morning I flee. 
And dwell in the midst of the far-rolling sea; 
Thy providence there will guide me the same. 
And thy power preserve from corruption and shame. 

If darkness, I say, shall hide me from Thee, 
That darkness w^ll be, a light about me ; 
For thy presence doth scatter all darkness away. 
And the night unto Thee, will be as the day. 



ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES TUPPER. 



Brother, farewell! thy useful life is ended, 

And fairer visions dawn upon thy eye, 
And peace and love to make thee blest are blended. 

And rainbow hues adorn thy cloudless sky — 
Ah! thou didst die, much sooner than expected; 

No darksome cloud was seen to dim thy sun; 
But now in death, thou art by all regretted. 

Whose life to us, so brilliantly begun. 

The widow and the orphan are seen weeping, 
And friendly ones are sad to see thee die, 

And long we'll hold thy life in grateful keeping. 
As star to beam upon bereavement's eye, 

76 



DEATH OF MR. JAMES TUPPER. 77 

And thy soft words, which breath'd so much of 
mildness, 

Still on the soul, their soothing cadence pour, 
And thy rich deeds of love, and Christian kindness 

Do but enhance thy memory the more. 

Tho' sad, we hope with thee to be united. 

Where tears and disappointments never chill, 
Where those, who once on earth have been benighted, 

Shall feel their bosom glow with holy thrill. 
And broken ties, and hopes, and joys be lifted 

To feel no more the waning blight of time. 
But souls, redeem'd of talents high and gifted, 

Shall rise in bliss to knowledge most sublime. 

Thou, like the tree, beside some river planted. 

Whose foliage is beautiful and green, 
Hadst a sweet freshness, and a fragrance granted 

To cheer thy spirit in its darkest scene; 
And we, perhaps, too much on thee, relying 

To aid our waning faith and puny prayer. 
May thus have hastened on thy early dying, 

Impell'd too much, by overburdened care. 



78 DEATH OF ME. JAMES TUPPER. 

The poor will not be soon thy love forgetting; 

Tho' nature may not seem thy death to heed, 
And in her splendor show no signs regretting; 

Yet for thy loss, our hearts do inward bleed; 
Thou, in our griefs, hadst prov'd a friend unchanging, 

Hadst sought to wipe the tear from sorrow's 
eye; 
In every noble scheme, and work engaging; 

Xor weary grew, till thou wast call'd to die. 

And now in bliss, thy golden harp is sounding 

Sweet praises to thy lovely Shepherd's ear. 
And he, thy brow, with royal gems surrounding. 

Is guiding thee beside still waters clear, 
A shepherd kind, who all thy wants is heeding; 

In pastures leads, where thou shalt never pine. 
And for thy good, with God is earnest pleading, 

To crown thee with felicity divine. 

Brother, farewell ! thy useful life is ended ; 

But the great work is still progressing on, 
Life, truth, honor, faith and hope are blended; 

Unconquer'd fields remain yet to be won; 



DEATH OF MR. JAMES TUPPER. 



79 



Thy death may be, like promised seeds, when 
planted, 

That springing shall luxuriate the plain, 
And make the waste, by thorns and thistles haunted. 

To bloom, and be a Paradise again. 



-«i^)-^>fe 




THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 



When early sun peers in the east, 

With his red golden ray; 
And nature, warm'd beneath the feast, 

Is gladdened into day; 
When love and beauty, life and light. 

And warbling birds appear, 
And dewy roses greet the sight — 

^Tis then the hour of prayer. 

And when the mid-day sun draws nigh. 

And vertical his beams; 
When weary beasts do homeward hie, 

And seek the cooling streams; 

(80) 



THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 81 

When man, awhile, from toil set free, 

Doth to his home repair, 
And smiling children climb his knee; 

'Tis then the hour of prayer. 

And when the golden sun, sinks low, 

Far down into the west; 
And darkness doth her mantle throw. 

Inviting us to rest; 
When deeper shades of night rush on, 

And stars watch in their sphere, 
And jarring discords, all are gone; 

^Tis then, the hour of prayer. 

And when disease invades the breast. 

And glare the fever'd eyes; 
And weary, we can find no rest. 

And hope within us dies; 
When friendship can no succor give; 

When death seems very near; 
When it is known, we cannot live; 

'Tis then the hour of prayer. 



THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM VERSIFIED. 



The Lord, my Shepherd, e'er shall be; 

No good will he deny; 
In pastures green, he maketh me, 

Beside still waters lie. 

In righteous paths, He'll guide my feet; 

My soul, he will restore; 
His love will be my safe retreat, 

And I shall stray no more. 

Tho' I may walk thro' death's dark vale, 

No evil will I fear. 
His rod and staff will never fail 

To give me comfort there. 

(82) 



THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 83 

A table rich, he will appoint; 

My foes shall see the store, 
With oil, Thou wilt my head anoint, — 

My cup is running o'er. 

Goodness and mercy, me will greet 
Through every changing year; 

Within thy temple. Lord, I'll meet, 
And dwell forever there. 




A PART OF THE 137TH PSALM VERSIFIED. 



By Babel's stream, we sat and wept 

And mourn'd for Salem^s woe; 
Thy foes, O Zion! o'er us swept 

And laid thy temple low; 
And we, who fled in foreign lands — 

O Zion! grieve for thee, 
And hang our harps, with trembling hands 

Upon the willow tree. 

And those, who led us far away. 
From home and kindred dear, 

Demand of us, some sacred lay. 
Some song to please the ear; 

(84) 



A PART OF THE 137TH PSALM. 85 


But never shall our voices sing, 
As exiles, where we live; 

Nor shall our lyres ever string — 
To mirth their pleasure give. 


And O! if I shall thee forget, 

Jerusalem, my joy. 
May my right hand, its art neglect, 

Its cunning to employ; 
And may my tongue all palsied be, 

And darkness shroud my light. 
If I do not remember thee, 

Above my chief delight. 


i^i&m^-^ 


8 



ON THE DEATH OF LAURA BROWN. 



[This little girl died when about nine years of age. She was beautiful in her 
person, lovely in her temper, and pious in her habits. The author well remem- 
bers seeing her fill her place in the Sabbath-school with much punctuality and 
attention.] 



Dear lov'd one, thou wast all so fair, 

So sunny was thy brow, 
The rays of bliss, seem'd penciled there, 

Like colors of the bow; 
For thou hadst felt no stormy day, 

Nor guilt-accusing fear, 
But basked beneath a cloudless ray, 

And breathed a fragrant air. 



(86) 



DEATH OF LAURA BROWN. 87 

Thou wast too fair on earth to dwell, 

Too finely framed for care — 
Earth's jarring discords on thee fell, 

Fiercer than thou could'st bear; 
And the fine golden harp gave way, 

Its silver chords grew mute, 
And thou, from us, didst pass away. 

Like evening's dying lute. 



If thou with us hadst still remained, 

And breathed our noxious air, 
Ah! sin, thy beauty would have stained. 

And marr'd thy glory here; 
But now, since thou hast 'scaped its blight, 

Return'd as pure, as given. 
Thy eyes shall see no misty light 

To dim thy view of Heav'n. 



A marble head-stone marks thy tomb. 
Reared with parental care; 

And on thy grave, sweet roses bloom. 
And breathe their fragrance there; 



88 DEATH OF LAUEA BROWN. 


And friendly ones pass not thee by; 


Bat draw them very near, 


And o'er thy grave, with downcast eye, 


They drop a silent tear. 


I sometimes go, thy grave to see, 


Upon a Sabbath day. 


And find it a fit shrine fi[)r me. 


Devotional to pray; 


For all around, methinks I hear 


The angel spirits sigh. 


And voices from the sleepers there, 


Say, ^^Thou too soon must die." 


Sometimes, methinks, I see thee here, 


Poised on a cherub's wing, 


And whisp'ring in the mourner's ear 


Some message, thou didst bring; 


For 0, it seems to me most fit. 


That one, so free from guile. 


Shouldst sometimes o'er this churchyard flit, 


And on bereavement smile. 



"THE FOOL HATH SAID IN HIS HEART, 
THERE IS NO GOD." 



There is ao God, the fool hath said, 

This beauteous earth we find 
From chaos came in order spread 

Without a ruling mind: 
Dark is his soul; he looks around to see; 
And shudders at its vast immensity. 

But yet he says, there is no God; 

The lovely roses bloom. 
The sun in glory, like a Lord, 

The bright and radiant moon, 

8* . (39) 



90 THE FOOL HATH SAID IN HIS HEAET. 

The lovely stars, that light this spacious world, 
AYere blindlj forra'd, and into being hurl'd. 

No God in all, I see, he cries; 

The music, that's so sweet; 
The winds in wailings or in sighs; 

The sun's reviving heat; 
The lightning flash, that darts its livid light, 
Are but creations of a senseless might. 

There is no God, the fool repeats, 

Tho' warm his heart doth glow. 
With feelings of a thousand sweets. 

As upward he doth go, 
And far beyond, where mortal foot can tread. 
He feels no God, no judge of quick and dead. 

There is no God, the fool doth say, 

Tho' conscience racks him sore, 
And darkness doth his soul dismay. 

And tremblings seize him o'er; 
Yet owns he not a God, who rules the skies, 
Who bids him live, and holds him, when he dies. 



THE FOOL HATH SAID IN HIS HEAET. 91 

There is no God, the fool declares; 

Yet often he will weep, 
And bow upon his knees in prayers. 

When dangers o'er him sweep. 
And from his soul is wrung the painful shriek, 
When death relentless would its terrors speak. 

And so the fool hath liv'd to die, 

A stranger to that God; 
Who drew in colors to his eye 

The path he should have trod; 
Whose lessons oft he spurn'd with wild disdain. 
And rues the anguish of a restless pain. 

There is a God, man hath no skill 

The summer cloud to tinge; 
To rouse dull nature at his will, 

Or Spring with beauty fringe; 
All o'er this earth, wherever man hath trod, 
All things are eloquent, and speak of God. 

There is a God, I read it clear 
In stars and moon and sun: 



92 



THE FOOL HATH SAID IN HIS HEAET. 



In the bright circling of the year, 

In seasons as they run; 
In all I see, but more I read it fair. 
In man. His image, who reflects him here. 



THE HEAVENLY REST. 



There is a rest for those, that weep, 

A rest, no eye hath seen; 
Where sorrow's tide doth never sweep; 

Where tears have never been. 
Where fadeless bloom will greet the eye. 
And softer tints adorn the sky. 

No sickness doth this rest invade; 

No cares; no trembling fear; 
No death is known; no grave is made; 

No tie is broken there; 
But life in all its beauty glows. 
And gathers freshness as it flows. 



(93) 



94 THE HEAVENLY EEST. 

No sun is there with burning light; 

No star with twinkling ray; 
No silver moon to cheer the night, 

Yet bright will be the day; 
For God and Christ will light bestow, 
Exceeding far the sun's bright glow. 

No features there are pale with woes; 

No dark and stormy days, 
The Sabbath is not known to close, 

A.nd lips cease not to praise; 
There Heaven's temple will be found, 
And every spot be hallowed ground. 

Dear Saviour! 'twill be rest for me 
To hear thy voice divine. 

And fix my longing eyes on thee, 
And feel that thou art mine; 

Kich in thy love, I'll ask no more; 

But live thy glory to adore. 

Then let me turn to thee, my eye, 
And to thy bosom press; 



THE HEAVENLY REST. 95 

Nor fold my wings; but onward fly, 

Till I, its joys possess; 
There I shall find a sweeter home, 
And never more from God shall roam. 




ON THE DEATH OF REV. W. T. CURTIS, D.D. 

[This aged and able minister of the New Testament, was burnt at sea, and 
sank with the steamer on which he took passage from Philadelphia to Norfolk.] 



Dense darkness brooded o'er the deep, 

And sleep was on thy brow, 
And watchmen, station'd there to keep 

Night vigils at the prow, 
Saw from abaft, a flame, that night. 

Which, fann'd by stormy breeze. 
Grew fiercer, till its lurid light 

Gleam 'd horrid o'er the seas. 

And hurried steps, and shrieking voice 
Were heard along the deck ; 

But thou, unconscious, hadst no choice- 
To 'scape the burning wreck; 



(96) 



DEATH OF EEV. W. T. CURTIS, D.D. 97 

For hearing dull had seal'd thy sleep, 

Amid the cries of woe, 
And thou, with burning ship, on deep, 

Hadst sunk in ocean low. 



We Avept, and it Avas right we should; 

For tears befit the eye, 
^Yhen one, so wise, so true, so good, 

Should from our circle die, 
"Whose presence did a sunshine bring. 

And cheer'd our social sky. 
Whose balmy smiles, like rosy Spring, 

Beam gladness on the eye. 



But thou art gone, in silence down, 

To sleep in coral mine; 
Where Autumn's skies, no leaves embrown ; 

Where sunbeams never shine; 
Where no love's eye is known to gaze; 

But billows o'er thee surge; 
Whose rolling and whose moaning waves. 

Will sing thy funeral dirge. 



98 DEATH OF REV. W. T. CURTIS, D.D. 

And far adown within the deep, 

Thy bones shall tranquil be, 
And trailing weeds will o'er thee weep — 

The willows of the sea; 
And corals, that in ocean bloom. 

And gems of diamond glare. 
Will twinkle o'er thy lonely tomb. 

And light thy pillow there. 

Like some bright star, that long hath shone 
Within the brow of night; 

From age or time had fled its throne. 
And left a memory bright; 

So, thou didst set in frosty years, 
Endear' d to us on earth ; 

And friendship, with becoming tears, 
Will long record thy worth. 




(( 



0! THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE, 

THEN WOULD I FLY AWAY AND BE AT KEST." 



O ! give me the wings of a dove to depart 
From cares that distress, and that sadden my heart; 
And dwell where the wicked shall cease to molest; 
And the weary of earth be forever at rest. 

This earth I have tried, and found it all vain; 
Its smiles have seduc'd me; its pleasure and pain; 
I seek, but in vain, to console my lone heart — 
Oh! give me the wings of a dove to depart. 

Oh ! give me the wings to survey the bright throng ; 
Whose voices unite in salvation's sweet song; 
Whose faces, like starlets in glory do shine; 
Whose brows are adorn'd, with the laurels divine. 

(99) 



100 "0! THAT I HAD WINGS." 

Oh! give me the wings to behold the fair forms 
Of those, who withstood persecution's dark storms; 
And learn from their lips, all their trials and pains; 
How hard were their struggles ; how rich were their 
gains. 

Oh! give me the wings to gaze full on the face 
Of the Saviour, who came to redeem our race; 
Whose glory, no mortal can ever behold; 
Whose love is so great, it can never be told. 

Oh! give me the wings to see those, whom I love, 
All joyously basking in glory above; 
Who often, methinks, in my loneliness say; 
Come brother! Come brother! O! ^hasten away. 

We live where no tears ever moisten the eye; 
Where ties are unbroken, and cloudless the sky; 
Where rivers, transparent meander the plains; 
Where God in his glory, eternally reigns. 

We live, where affection, no jealousy knows; 
Where love for each other, increasingly flows: 
Where God and the Lamb is the theme and the song. 
Oh! brother, come hasten, come hasten along. 



"0! THAT I HAD WINGS." 



101 



Oh ! give me the wings of a dove to depart 
From the cares that distress, and that sadden my 

heart; 
And dwell, where the wicked shall cease to molest, 
And the weary shall be forever at rest. 




9* 



THE BOY AND HIS HOOP. 



I once did see a playful boy, 

Within a garden fair, 
Who rolFd a hoop with childish joy 

Without restraint or fear; 
And near to him, a rose did blush, 

All lovely to the eye; 
But so, intent, with hoop to rush, 

He careless pass'd it by. 
And then the rose did pout its lip. 

And said; "You naughty boy — 
My sweets, no more your breath shall sip, 

Nor ever me enjoy." 

(102) 



THE BOY AND HIS HOOP. 103 

Yet roird his hoop; and then there flew 

A bird of starry wing, 
That lit close by, just full in view, 

And then began to sing. 
And tho' she sang, like nightingale, 

Melodious and sweet; 
Yet her rich notes could not avail 

A welcome there to meet; 
The bird in anger clos'd its bill. 

And shook its purple wing. 
And said: "Henceforth, I'll be me still, 

For thee, I'll no more sing." 

Yet roll'd his hoop in merry race; 

And then there came a girl — 
Most beautiful, with angel face. 

With rosy cheek and curl; 
Who skilful, like an angel play'd 

Upon her golden lyre. 
That made the floral nymphs parade; 

But could not him inspire; 
No more would she, her lyre employ; 

But ceas'd its happy lay; 



104 THE BOY AND HIS HOOP. 


And said; "Ye reckless, thoughtless boy, 


For thee, I'll no more play/' 


On went his hoop, and then there came 


A man of hoary lock, 


Who, high enjoy 'd a parish fame, 


As pastor of a flock; 


Who spoke kind words to gain his ear, 


His pleasure to forsake; 


But so intent in rolling there. 


Would no instruction take; 


And so the pastor, with a thong. 


Corrected his career; 


And led him out the floral throng. 


No more, their sweets to share. 


This earth is but a garden fair. 


With music, birds and flowers; 


And those, who roll in pleasure here. 


Do mar its rosy bowers; 


And when to mirth are wedded long. 


And feel no joyous thrill. 



THE BOY AND HIS HOOP. 105 

At angel's sweet, redeeming song; 

But live ungrateful still; 
When the moral scenes of beauty 

Can no emotion start; 
Then affliction's rod in duty, 

Subdues the thoughtless heart. 




ON THE DEATH OF REV. F. WAYLAND, D. D. 



Thy mind was strong and logical, 
And clear as diamond light; 

Koligious and methodical, 

And always took the right; 

And none, who broke a lance with thee, 

Retired with the victory. 

But ah! those days with thee are o'er; 

Death holds thee in his shrine; 
Thy lips to us shall speak no more. 

Corruption now is thine; 
Yet thou hast wreathed thy brow with fame, 
And long will we revere thy name. 

(IOC) 



DEATH OF REV. F. WAYLAID, D. D. 107 

'Tis mine to say, I knew thee well, — 

Methinks, I see thee now; 
And love, as erst, on thee to dwell; 

To study thy full brow; 
And those dark piercing eyes of thine. 
That seem'd, like starlets there to shine. 

And long, I'll love to think of thee. 
And long, thy worth commend; 

For when temptation threatened me, 
I found in thee a friend. 

And thy kind words, like Sabbath bell. 

Still soothe, with their remembered spell. 

Then be it mine to cherish thee; 

To cast me in thy mould; 
To set the superstitious free. 

And in the right be bold; 
Xor angry words to others speak; 
But, like thee, be a pattern meek. 



(( 



BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." 



Think not that those, who mourn and weep, 
Are happy less because they sigh; 

A loving God their hearts will keep, 

And dry the tear from Sorrow's eye. 

Tho' they may seem in life forlorn, 

And pallid grow their brows with pain, 

Those brows shall blooming health adorn. 
And smiles illume their hearts again. 

And those, who mourn for Zion's ways; 

Whose harps are on the willow tree. 
Will yet behold those brighter days, 

When Zion's sons shall all be free. 

(108) 



"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." 109 

Thou, that dost shed the tear of grief, 

And mournest for thy sins with fears, 

Look to the cross for thy relief, — 

The Saviour's love will dry thy t^ars. 

The pious poor, who weeps unknown, 

Who has not Avhere to close his eye, 

Knows that the God of love has shown 
His pity for the mourner's sigh. 

The nio;htino-ale will sweeter sino;, 

When sorrow doth her heart prepare; 

And roses crush'd will joyous fling, 
A richer fragrance on the air. 

The stars, that twinkle far away, 

In darkest niglit, do brighter shine, 

And fairer is the diamond's ray, 

That sparkles in the darkest mine. 

And so 'twill be with those, that mourn. 
Their o-races will reflect more lio:ht: 

And when their joys are from them torn ; 
Their soncrs will sweeter be at night. 

10 



110 " BLESSED AEE THEY THAT MOURN." 

And thou, who mournest o'er the bier 
Of some dear lov'd one gone before, 

Look to that purer, nobler sphere, 

Where thou shalt meet, to part no more. 

Trust thou in God, who kindly knows 

The tears, that bathe his children's eye; 

Who will ere long repay their woes. 

With joys, that never more shall die. 




OINT THE 



DEATH OF THE HOl^. AlfGUS PATTERSOlf. 



Afflicted ones! come gaze upon his brow^ 

Ere the cold earth shall hide his manly face; 
He was your friend, look kindly on him now, 

Who lov'd so much to aid our fallen race; 
Bathe his cold cheek, with friendship's gushing tear, 

Who made it sunshine, where he came to dwell, 
Who modest wore the highest honors here — 

Come near! and gaze, and take your last 
farewell. 

He liv'd to see a goodly ripe old age, 

And prosperous suns beam'd gladness on his 
brow. 

And for his prudence he was thought 'a sage, 
And to his wisdom, we were wont to bow; 

(111) 



112 DEATH OF HON. ANGUS PATTERSON. 

^Twas his, great good, bj energy to gain, 

To compass ends, by means adapted well, 

And in whose life there was no blot or stain — 
Come near! and gaze and take your last 
farewell. 

His voice no more, you'll hear around the hearth, 

Kor social scenes, where he was w^ont to speak; 
He soon wdll moulder with his parent earth. 

For pale corruption now is on his cheek; 
But yet his soul sliall feel no inner gloom, 

Kor wdth the dust, his body long shall dwell, 
For he wall rise triumphant o'er the tomb — 

Come near! and gaze and take your last 
farewell. 

There is a voice, that speaks from out the tomb, 

A voice, that bids us seek a purer sky, 
Where we shall meet, who wear the Spirit's bloom, 

And never more again in sorrow die; 
Where we shall bask in one eternal May, 

And ^mid the scenes of vernal beauty dwell; 
Nor ever feel a pleasure to decay, 

Xor ever hear, nor say, the word, farewell. 



JUDAH. 



No more shall thy altars, O Judah, be red; 

The knife of the priest, in its scabbard doth 
rust; 
The prophets and seers from thy Zion have fled, 

And the walls of thy temple lie low in the dust. 

The stream of the Cedron is dyed with thy gore; 

Thy daughters in exile do weepingly roam; 
The sound of the timbrel doth gladden no more, 

And darkness, like Egypt's hath covered thy 
home. 

The foxes have holes, and the birds, their soft nest, 
And nations, a soil, that in peace may be trod ; 

Thou Judah hast not, where thy bosom to rest, 
Nor a temple on Zion to worship thy God. 

10* (113) 



114 JUDAH. 

O^ Judah I weep, at the tale of thy blood, 

Which stream'd unrelenting to soothe a dark 
fate; 
Thro' France, and thro' Spain, it roll'd on, like a 
flood. 
Till History blushes thy wrongs to relate. 

'Twas thy prayer, that his blood should rest on 
thy head, 

And its answer has made thy spirit to bow; 
As exiles, ye wander in sorrow and dread, 

With the mark of its stain, still red on thy brow. 

The glow of Shekinah has faded away, 

The types and the symbols no longer inspire; 

The Ark and the Tablet have gone to decay. 

And broken and mute are the strings of thy 
lyre. 

O, why do you linger, at Sinai's base now? 

Where the flash of the lightning, once 
threatened despair. 
When Shiloh, who suffered on Calvary's brow, 

Is sweetly, and tenderly wooing you there. 



JUDAH 



115 



O Jiidah, believe; there is peace for thy breast; 

Thou mayest ere long, thy country regain, 
And chasten'd in spirit, shalt find a sweet rest, 

And share, with thy Shiloh, a glorious reign. 



ON THE DEATH OF JENNIE M., 

A NEIGHBOE'S CHILD AND AN HOUSEHOLD PET. 



Thou, stainless, like the flow'r 
Didst shed a blushing beauty on the eye, 
The fairest bud within thy parent's bow'r, 

The first to droop and die. 

We may not see thee smile, 
Xor hear thy prattling voice, nor note thy tread, 
Nor feel the gleamings of thy sparkling eye — 

To us, thou art not dead. 

Thou liv'st in our memories; 
Thy doll, and playthings, and thy tiny chair. 
Thy laughs and romps, and childish ecstasies. 

Still fresh to us appear. 

(116) 



ON THE DEATH OF JENNIE M. 117 

Thy spirit now is free, 
And thou art clothed in garments bright and fair, 
And angels kiss, and kindly fondle thee; 

And thou art happy there. 

And He, who children blest 
On earth, doth take thee in his tender arm, 
And nestle thee within his loving breast — 

Secure from every harm. 

Farewell! but we shall meet; 
Thy budding life shall glow with holier fire, 
And we in peace shall walk the pearly street, 

And tune our golden lyre. 




A PRAYER FOR CHARITY. 



Father Divine, restrain me here, 

My brother's fault to blame, 
Or, ungenerous to appear. 

Or wish another's shame; 
But breathe in me a kind regard, 

To sympathize with man. 
And not his rising hopes, retard. 

Or wrong, his conduct scan. 

Teach me to love my brothers here, 
And act a friendly part; 

To dry the gushing, pensive tear. 
And bind the broken heart. 



(118) 



A PRAYER FOR CHARITY. 119 

And weigh their acts with balance true, 

Ere I suspicion heed, 
And not until a full review, 

Condemn a doubtful deed. 

No mercy could I ask of Thee, 

If I, that mercy shun. 
Whose eyes, my every thoughts do see, 

Deeds planned, or actual done; 
Teach me, O teach me to be just. 

And errors to forgive, 
That when I lie, low in the dust, 

I may in glory live. 




A 



NIGHT MUSINGS. 



How soft and grateful is the coming night! 

How one by one the stars in sky appear! 
How strangely fades the functions of the sight! 

How sweet the music, that pervades the air I 

I cheerful feel, when evening shades are nigh, 
When fragrant flow'rs embalm the dewy air, 

When twinkling stars are marshall'd in the sky, 
And owl's too-hoot salutes the drowsy ear. 

Full many bards have lov'd to tune their lyre. 
When darkest night, within the sky appears; 

The solemn stillness doth their hearts inspire. 
And wake the memories of departed years. 

(120) 



NIGHT MUSINGS. 121 

'Tis in the night, that weary nature greets 
The rest she needs, her powers to renew; 

^Tis then the rose diffuses richer sweets, 

And friendship holds its dearest interview. 

^Tis in the night, that arson plans its work; 

That timid vice assumes a courage bold; 
That the assassin, with his lifted dirk. 

Essays to slay his brother for his gold. 

^Twas in the night, that Cassius, Brutus sought; 

That Arnold treason'd for a golden dower; 
That persecution's darkest scenes were wrought^ 

And factions schemed to crush the ruling power. 

Ah! night, thou gift, thou balmy boon of Heav'n; 

Thou'rt sadly chang'd from thy benignant aim, 
Which now to song, and revelry art given, 

Until thy robes are stain'd with foulest shame. 

The Moon's eclipse, the meteor's falling shower. 
The Comeths motion, and the Northern Light, 

The countless stars, that blaze with fadeless pow'r, 
Are scenes, that we can fairer view at night. 

11 



122 NIGHT MUSINGS. 

The student, that doth love the starry plains, 

And roam from pole to pole o'er all the sky, 

E/ejoices in his labours, and his pains. 

When some strange star beams on his gazing 
eye. 

And war's dread car, that rolls its horrid wheel. 
Doth cease, when night, its dusky shadow 
throws. 

And madden'd bosoms, that could never feel, 
Now dread the carnage of opposing foes. 




THE EVENING STAR. 



I love to gaze on thee, bright evening star; 

A glowing beauty lights thy twinkling eye; 
From tirae^s first dawn, 'twas thine to come afar, 

And shed a rainbow promise in the sky. 

A dreamy sweetness rules within the breast, 

And happy, homeward hies the vagrant bee; 

The jaded ploughman seeks his wonted rest, 

And leaves his cares to darkness and to thee. 

Beneath thy beams, the lute doth softer sound. 
And Zephyrs waft more odors from their wing, 

The air with voices, sweeter doth resound. 

And love-sick maids, more tenderly do sing. 

(123) 



124 THE EVENING STAR. 

No other star, that shines in sky above, 

Reflects so much its Maker's image there; 

Thou wearest still the same benignant love, 

As when to Hymen, bow'd the primal pair. 

We know not how, thou earnest there a guest; 

Nor where shall end the glory of thy light, 
Or why thou first shouklst sink into the West, 

While stars, less lovely linger thro' the night. 

Thou seemest like a vision in the sky. 

That doth a dreamy pleasure to us give — 

A type of bliss, a spirit from on high. 
To teach us here in amity to live. 

Thou art the first and fairest born of night — 
A brilliant dweller of a peaceful clime. 

And from all age didst shed a diamond light. 

Which made thee glorious from the dawn of 
time. 

Like some fair rose, thou blushest in the sky, 
A gem to gild the dusky brow of night; 

To thee, the lover turns his gazing eye. 

And sees a rainbow promise in thy light. 



THE EVENING STAR. 125 

And many a heart, a witness calls to thee, 

That promise made, and love's memorial gave, 

Which, tho' sincere, had never come to be; 

For death their hopes had buried in the grave. 

Thou seemest there in loneliness to shine. 
Like beacon light upon a stormy shore; 

Yet lonelier I do find this heart of mine. 

When I am call'd some lov'd one to deplore. 

Thou dost within the home of sorrow gaze. 

And watch the couch on which affliction lies; 

Thou hearest when the sick man fervent prays. 
And weepest, when he uncomplaining dies. 

Methinks I see cherubic angels fly. 

And bathe their wings within thy azure blue. 
And float, like spirit-flowers in the sky. 

With all the splendor of the rainbow-hue. 

And O, when death this form of mine shall change. 
My soul will plume its long neglected wing. 

And soar sublime, with far-extended range. 

And breathe the fragrance of thy fadeless 
Spring. 

11* 



126 



THE EVENING STAE. 



Then I shall see your cloudless days and nights; 

Shall know the myst'ry of your brilliant sphere. 
Shall converse hold, with all your fairest lights, 

Whose forms, I sought, in vain to compass here. 

Bright Evening Star ! as long as Spring shall reign ; 

As long as Autumn shed its leafy show'r; 
As long as Winter bind with icy chain. 

So long shall love and friendship own thy 
power. 




THE POLAR STAR. 



Thou Polar Star, that shin'st in icy sky, 
Thro' dreary night, as in the rosy day, 

I gaze on thee, with s delighted eye, 

Whose watchful light has never felt decay. 

Long hast thou stood, a sentinel and still, 

'Midst troops of stars, that glitter in thy dome, 

And faithful dost thy promise high fulfil — 
A beacon light to guide the erring home. 

Thy sparkling rays, that on my vision fall. 

For many years, had sped their bright career, 

Nor loitered since they left thy blazing wall, 

Nor lost a beam, while on their transit here. 

(127) 



128 THE POLAE STAR. 

Man, weary seeks his rest at eventide, 

And nature pines her powers to renew; 

But thou, bright Star, unfailing dost abide. 
And far illume thy fields of azure blue. 

Tho' lonely, and tho' chilly be thy sphere, 

Thou seemest happy at thy Maker's will; 

Whose wisdom made thy station to be there. 
As best his noble purpose to fulfill. 

Thou seemest like an artist station'd high. 
To photograph the good and evil here. 

That angels may record them in the sky. 

And read them, when the Judgment shall appear. 

'Tis thine to see when conflagrations sweep. 
And bury cities in their blazing urn — 

To see, when tempests shake the mighty deep. 
And raging floods, their high embankments 
spurn. 

'Tis thine, bright Star! these fearful'scenes to see — 
To shed thy beams, like beacon light on shore. 

And guide the half-wreck'd on the stormy sea 
To quiet ports, where waves refuse to roar. 



THE POLAE STAR. 129 

To thee there is, no night, no dawn, no noon; 

All seasons dost thou glitter in the sky; 
The twinkling stars, the sun, and silver moon. 

Behold thee, watching with thy sleepless eye. 

The rolling years have witnessed many die, 

And time itself has turned its locks to gray, 

And nations countless and forgotten lie; 
Yet thou art fair, as on thy natal day. 

Nor chance, nor fate could rear thy shining tower. 
But wisdom wrought thee, with a skillful might? 

Whose splendid use attests His kindly power. 

That chainless made thee to revolve thy light. 

And O, how wide and wondrous is the space, 
Thro' which do roll those vast and kindred 
spheres; 

What swarms of worlds in endless circles race! 
Whose weight and size defied the skill of years. 

Thou hast a feeling and a language there. 

Which tell me, that thy love is ever true — 

That when affliction floods my bosom here, 
Thou dost assume a gloomy sadness too. 



130 THE POLAE STAR. 

Since first I gaz'd upon thy glowing light, 

Full many friends, who lov'd to give me cheer. 

Have sank to rest in death's sepulchral night, 
While I, a-weary, linger lonely here. 

Low in the tomb, my parents both repose, 

Who shone, when I by tempest fierce was driv'n, 

And kindly would their counsels interpose. 

And guide my footsteps to the gates of Heav'n. 

Bright Star! still watch the graves where they do 
sleep — 

Still guard their bones, committed to thy trust; 
Thro' nights and days, your faithful vigils keep. 

That no vile hands may desecrate their dust. 

'Twas thine, bright Star, to hail the eastern Light; 

To know its import, and its glory trace; 
'Twas thine to feel the rapture of that night, 

And join the anthem of redeeming grace. 

Thou art a type of Him, the Prince of peace. 
Who to this world, a polar star is giv'n; 

Whose saving love, the guilty can release, 

And safe advance them to the bliss of Heav'n. 



THE STARS. 



How lovely do the stars in splendor glow, 

As if no grave had marr'd this earthly sod, 

As if this world had never known a woe; 
But always liv'd in harmony with God. 

If stars do see, they seem not there to feel 

The wrong and carnage, that afflict our race. 

The Avidows' tears, the orphan's vain appeal, 
And blighted virtue weeping in disgrace. 

And O, how good is God thus far to hang 

Those starry lamps to shine in nightly hours; 

That their sweet bliss may never feel a pang 

To see a world so stain'd with crimes as ours. 

(131) 



132 THE STAES. 

Ye move in grandeur^ measureless, sublime, 

Through boundless space that doth the mind 
confound ; 

Your trackless paths ye traversed from all time, 
Us or weary grew in your appointed round. 

And tho^ ye roll, with speed electric SAvift; 

Yet no confusion rules within the sky; 
Tho' seeming JaAvless, thro^ the air ye drift, 

Ye there are guided by a sleepless eye. 

AVith some, your rays still linger in the sky. 
So far removed from telescopic sight. 

While only recent, others reached the eye, 

Tho' onward borne since morn's created light. 

And some of ye are suns of dazzling blaze, 
The central source of systems undefined. 

Which track sublime your far and pathless ways, 
That ojitics fail your boundaries to find. 

Thro' seasons all ye countless throng the air, 
And endless roll in circles thro' the sky; 

So grand ye seem, a vision to be there, 
And not a truth appealing to the eye. 



THE STAES. 133 

And ye, bright stars, do nightly there appear, 
And each fulfill the mission of its trust ; 

By laws retain unchang'd your station there, 

Tho' kings and thrones have crumbled in the 
dust. 

Tho' thousand times your speed exceeds the bird, 
No rustling sound jars on the finest ears; 

So still, a spirit's footstep may be heard; 

So awed to silence are your mighty spheres. 

Nor height, nor depth, nor breadth the eye can see; 

In midway doth imagination tire; 
I gaze and wonder till I seem to be 

A nothing 'mid your globes of flaming fire. 

And yet, the eye of Him who bade you shine, 
Electric glances o'er your fields of blue, 

And with precision doth your bounds define. 
And all your countless revolutions view. 

And when I take the telescopic glass. 

And view the sky, some clear and cloudless night. 

What countless stars before my vision pass! 

What diamond splendors burst upon my sight! 

12 



134 THE STAKS. 

And O! how oft^ bright stars, I gaz'd on you, 
Which rolling sang your Maker^s highest praise ; 

How oft at sea, I lov'd your lights to view, 
And feel the rapture of your happy lays. 

Mysterious are your wonders here to me; 

My mind is wilder'd at your countless blaze, 
Grand and sublime, like yonder rolling sea. 

Ye flood the world, with your resplendent rays. 

Perchance, ye stars, may be the peaceful home 
Of spirits, that are heavenly endowed, 

Who, sinless, may o'er fragrant meadows roam. 
And feel no pain their happiness to cloud. 

O, if I could, but rise on seraph's wing; 

I'd bear me hence, your wonders to behold, 
And bask beneath your sky of fadeless spring. 

And walk in peace, your streets of burnish'd 
gold. 

Ah! ye bright stars, that glow in yonder sphere. 
Ye may not always shine with sparkling light; 

Some fair as ye, are known to disappear. 

While burning ones, now glare upon the sight. 



THE STARS. 135 

When Moscow fell, and blaz'd in sheets of fire, 
And far and near diifiis'd a lurid light, 

The shrieking crowd began then to retire, 

While fiercer grew the horrors of the night. 

And many fell beneath the burning wreck. 

And perish'd thousands by the sabre's blow, 

Nor pleading grief, nor infant's cry could check 
The soldier's vengeance, or the torches' glow. 

Ah! sad if earth were wrapp'd in burning flames. 
And man, no spot, shall find to rest his feet — 

To perish all, our country, homes, and names. 
And never more, a friendly face to greet. 

Yet stars, perchance, where man was wont to dwell. 
Have sunk in flames, no more again to rise. 

And not a voice, nor message came to tell 

The time, when they were stricken from the 
skies. 

I gaze on you, that nearest to me stand — 

Fair kindred stars, ye Mercury and Mars, 

And Venus, with your oceans and your land. 
And all your train and retinue of stars. 



136 THE STARS. 

And O, I think, so like to Earth you seem, 
In your rotation, density and birth, 

A race, like ours, must on your surface teem. 
That high enjoy intelligence and worth. 

Thou Saturn too, that dost illume the night, 

Whose eight bright moons, a brilliant splendor 
throw. 

Art circled by two rings of spangled light. 
That set thy surface in a diamond glow. 

^Tis not alone, in thee, we myst'ry see, 

Whose gorgeous rings, the gazing eye do thrill; 

For in the mote and minnow of the sea, 
We see the wonders of an equal skill. 

I cannot think, thou art a barren waste. 
To float alone in grandeur so sublime; 

But peopled with intelligence and taste. 

By race superior, and exempt from crime. 

Perchance may dwell huge giants on your soil, 
Like fabled Titans of the olden time, 

Whose moral habits, and Avhose mental toil, 

May raise them high in knowledge more sublime. 



THE STARS. 137 

With them, a Newton may a pigmy be, 

In scope of thought and philosophic lore, 

Whose minds in depth, unfathom'd, like the sea, 
May roll in waves of undiminish'd store. 

I know not what may be their status there; 

What customs, laws and habits may be theirs; 
They may, like angels, visit every sphere. 

And feel no changes from the lapse of years. 

Thou Jove, that scarce the solar light canst feel. 
Whose far-off bulk rolls fearful thro' the air, 

Dost hours ten upon your axis wheel. 

With four bright moons to light your darkness 
there. 

And thou Uranus, and thou Neptune too. 
The farthest of the planetary throng, 

Are much too distant for the eye to view. 
And moons that to your retinue belong. 

O! how sublime and grand the thought to me. 
That if I were to climb your summits there; 

I would as many blazing bodies see. 

As those, that glitter on my vision here. 

12* 



138 THE STAES. 

And if I yet should still ascend me more, 
As far beyond, as ye are to me high, 

I'd see as many planets as before. 

In long successions, rolling thro' the sky. 

And O! how vast is God's sustaining pow'r, 
That never doth a moment ever pause. 

In rolling planets, or in blushing flow'r. 
In wide-extended, or minutest laws. 

His eyes see all, the lowly and the proud, 
On mountain site, or in the ocean low. 

In eagle's flight, that cleaves the rolling cloud, 
Or mote, that dances in the solar glow. 

And those same eyes, that gaze on thronging crowds, 
Do pierce alike the woodland and the bow'rs. 

And guide the dark, and fleecy rolling clouds. 
To pour their treasures in congenial show'rs. 

And ye, bright stars, that roll in yonder spheres. 
Have never yet beheld your Maker's face, 

AYhose active presence everywhere appears. 
And lights the regions of remotest space. 



THE STARS. 139 

Ye are but shadows of His depthless mind, 

Whose light and whose sustaining care, ye feel, 

Whose image, ye must ever fail to find. 

Or perish if. He should Himself reveal. 

The angels, that around Him, dazzling shine. 

Whose minds are cloth 'd with powers more 
sublime, 

Are forced to veil their faces at his shrine, 
Tho' God-enlightened from remotest time. 

And if these angels of celestial light. 

Have faiFd who made the Deity their theme; 
How vain must be imagination's flight 

To form an ideal of that Great Supreme. 

Yet ye shall live, the messengers of joy. 

The spangled glory of that upper sphere; 

Whose splendors He doth silently employ 
To be the heralds of His power there. 

Bright Stars! ye live in harmony divine, 

And nightly teach celestial virtues there. 

And we, who worship at your lovely shrine, 
Will in your skies more beautiful appear. 



140 



THE STARS. 



Long may ye shine, in yonder space sublime; 

For good, and not for evil were ye giv'n; 
Ye are by bards extoll'd in every clime — 

A type of peace, "the poetry of Heav'n." 



THE MOON. 

" Jam Cytheka chokus ducit Venus imminente Ltjna." 

Horace. 



Thou lovely Moon! I hail thy pensive ray; 

Thou art the empress of the dusky night; 
When stormy clouds, obscure the rosy day, 

Thou soothest nature, with thy balmy light. 

Full many a time, when youthful years were mine, 
I tun'd my lyre in honor of thy praise, 

And felt a rapture at thy beamy shrine. 
As I imbibed the softness of thy rays. 

I love beneath thy pale and pensive beam 

To stray in glens, and hear the owlet's cry; 

Or stand beside the marge of some fair stream, 
And see thy image on its bosom lie. 

(141) 



142 THE MOON. 

Thou floatest like a flower of the sky — 

A wand'rer o'er the desert vast and wild; 

Yet thou art fair, and lovely to the eye, 

As when thy beams first on this planet smil'd. 

The sage and hermit love on thee to gaze; 

And grateful feel the glowings of thy light, 
That flooding earth, and ocean with its rays, 

Doth far and wide imparadise the night. 

Oft when my heart, with sorrow here is bow'd, 
And words are vain, my sadness to dispel; 

Thy smiling beams would chase the moral cloud, 
And bid me hope in Paradise to dwell. 

Thou standest there, like prophet of the sky. 

And prayerful ones kneel at thy beamy throne, 

And suppliant lift to thee their streaming eye 
To make their natures, lovely as thy own. 

Oft poets think, they feel a special flame. 

When 'neath thy beams, they tune their golden 
lyre, 

And hopeful dream to gain, thro' thee, a fame. 
That long shall live, when other bards expire. 



THE MOON. 143 

The warbling birds, within the rosy bow'r, 

When warm'd beneath thy pale and glowing beam, 

AVill wake amid the stillness of the hour, 

And pour their ditties in a vocal stream. 

In olden times the fairy elves did meet 

In moon-lit groves, by fount or sedgy streams, 

And tripp'd o'er heaths, with soft and tiny feet, 
AYhile high o'erhead roll'd down thy silver 
beams. 

Thou dost the tides in ceaseless motion keep,^ 

And check stagnation, that would sicken there. 

And with the winds, that o'er these waters sweep, 
Infuse a healthy vigor to the air. 

In winter thou dost shed thy fairest beams. 

And longer shine to cheer the chilly night; 

Thou dost inspire the mind with sweeter dreams, 
And teach the measure of the planet's height. 

Thou nearest dost of all the planets stand. 

Whose friendship we do love to cherish there ; 

Whose office is so noble and so grand. 

That we should love to emulate thee here. 



144 THE MOON. 

Of all the stars, the native eye can see, 

Thou art the least; yet brilliant is thy light; 

Tho' million times, the Sun exceedeth thee. 
Thou rulest next, the Arbitress of night. 

Once in a month, earth's light upon thee streams, 
With thirteen times the brightness of thy face. 

And makes thy nights, so brilliant with its beams. 
That thou canst all its grand divisions trace. 

Vast mountains from thy surface rear them high. 
And dread volcanoes belch their lurid fires. 

And caves and dens, deep in thy bosom lie, 

While forest trees loom up, like temples' spires. 

Thou art a type of infancy and age. 
In endless circles to begin and set. 

And deeds of good are written on thy page, 
Altho' thou dost, another's light reflect. 

O! nature, while thy grandeur I proclaim, 
I feel a glow within my bosom deep — 

A glow of love, that warms devotion's flame, 
And makes it sacrilege for me to weep. 



THE MOON. 145 

Perchance, the weary may ascend thy sphere, 

When death shall give the fettered soul release, 

And find in thee, an end of all their care^ 
A sweet asylum of an endless peace. 

Alas! I see thee sinking in the West, 

And slowly fades thy soft and dreamy light, 

I soon again will seek my wonted rest. 

And say to thee, fair Arbitress, good night! 




SVl^^Sto* 



13 



MORAL NIGHT. 



Ah ! moral night, long brooded o'er our sky, 

And man forgot his brother's good to keep, 

And war, its bloody banner wav'd on high. 

And peaceful nations long were called to weep. 

And superstition, with its darkling creed, 
Relentless doom'd the 'innocent to die ; 

Yet left the guilty conscience still to bleed — 
Still hopeless for redemption's boon to sigh. 

Thus man remained, till on his vision rose 

Messiah's Star, that shone o'er Zion's hill. 

And gave the trembling penitent repose 

From all his fears, and sin-condemniug ill. 

(146) 



MORAL NIGHT. 147 

Ah ! Rome, too long, a persecuting flood 

Roll'd horrid o'er your Churches and your 
State; 

Whose rivers oft were stain'd with martyrs' blood — 
Too sad, alas ! for verses to relate. 

Tho' yet in error, and to wrong inclined. 
Some are deserving of a passing meed; 

Whose lofty genius, and untainted mind, 

Have sought to raise the standard of your creed. 

The dawn of hope began in Luther's days, 
When cloudless in his grandeur he arose. 

And shone around, with such inspir'd rays, 

That Europe woke, Rome's errors, to expose. 

Then freedom beamed triumphant on the sight. 
And pour'd its cheering rays o'er distant shore; 

Till now it glows in one effulgent light. 

And blazing piles are seen to smoke no more. 

Oh ! happy day ! thrice happy day to me ! 

Who quiet here, my even way have trod, 
And from the scourge of persecution free. 

May yield my conscience only up to God. 



TAKE BACK THIS CUP. 



Take back this cup, 'tis swimming, 

With many a deadly throe; 
Up to its very brimming, 

Each drop is filled with woe; 
It brings a gloomy sadness; 

It deadens in its flow. 
It stirs the brain with madness, 

Tho' rosy be its glow. 

Take back this cup, 'tis sorrow; 

There's a serpent lurking there. 
That will appear to-morrow. 

Inducing dark despair;' 



(148) 



TAKE BACK THIS CUP. 149 

For every bubble floating 

Upon its rosy brim ; 
Tho' on it, we are doating, 

Brings deadly food for him. 

Take back this cup, O, quickly, 

I think of time, that^s flown ; 
When I would lay me sickly 

Upon the ground alone. 
With night dews on me falling ; 

At home a w^eeping wife. 
And famish'd children calling, 

For food to cherish life. 

Take back this cup, and break it ; 

Dash forth the purple wine, 
If ye would not inherit 

A curse, as dark as mine ; 
There's grief and sorrow in it, 

Tho' sparkling be its glow ; 
The day you drink you'll rue it, 

For madness lurks below. 



13* 



AUTUMN. 



Ah ! Summer's breath has lost its glow ; 

It breath'd its last to-day ; 
Pale Autumn comes, with paces slow, 

To hold his mellow sway ; 
A sober gladness rules the hour — 

Low bends the golden grain, 
And verdant leaves, in rosy bower, 

Now wear a purple stain. 

No more in woods and glens we see 
The verdant rosy bowers ; 

Nor fragrant shrub ; nor spicy tree ; 
Nor var'egated flowers ; 



(150) 





AUTUMN. 151 


Nor 


is there heard, a cheering note 




Among the feather'd throng ; 


Nor 


bleating of the sheep, nor goat. 




Nor milkmaid's merry song. 


The 


dying leaves, in sadness bend, 




Their brown, empurpled heads; 


And 


falling round, sad murmurs send. 




Along their mossy beds; 


And 


grazing flocks seek not the stream. 




Nor bee, the fragrant rose; 


Nor 


is there heard the night hawk's scream. 




To mar the evening's close. 


The 


weary year comes on oppress'd, 




With paleness on its brow; 


And 


like a pilgrim maid distress'd, 




Looks sad and gloomy now; 


For all its virgin charms have fled, 




Its jocund laugh and song. 


And blushes of a rosy red, 




With all its merry throng. 



152 AUTUMN. 

But O, there is a beauty yet 

Within its sunset sky, 
Where the soft tints of violet, 

Do with the orange vie; 
Whose pillared clouds in grandeur rise. 

Then slowly fade afar, 
While in the purple- tinted skies. 

Beams forth the evening Star. 




CANDOR. 

"'Tis great, 'tis manly to disdain disguise; 
It shows our spirit, or it shows our strength." — Young. 



I caDDot hide, what I am here to man; 

I have no cause to act a double part, 
My own, and others^ conduct will I scan. 

And speak outright what lurks within my heart. 

He, whom the truth shall here a freeman make. 
Will be no slave to passion or to crime; 

He'll laugh or smile, his observations take, 

And write his thoughts, in prose, or else in rhyme. 

And for myself, I wish here to be true. 

And watch my faults, with a suspicious care ; 

With plumb and line, my moral status view. 
That never false, I may to man appear. 

(153) 



154 CAN-DOE. 

I'll smile not, when my heart is sad within; 

FU say not yes, when no, I really mean; 
I'll frown not, nor affect a laugh, a sin. 

When all around presents a merry scene. 

Like the rose, I'll show my own true color — 

Red, white, blue, pink, as it may chance to be, 

As you see, distinguished from each other; 

And if I'm sweet, the more, you'll honor me. 

There's nothing gain'd then by fictitious seeming, 
"Which apes, like dewy drops, the diamond's 
glare; 

And void of virtues to sustain its beaming, 
Will fade, and from the vision disappear. 




^ 



THE YEAR 



EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHT. 



Twelve months have pass'd — 'tis Sixty-Eight; 

It is a Xew Year's morn, 
Put on thy armor, do not wait, 

Rise with the early dawn; 
And laborious seek to be. 

Begin thy duties now. 
Else thy cherish'd hopes may flee, 

And darkness gloom thy brow. 

Time is short, and it fleeth fast, 

Death holds his wonted sway — 

Wake, this year may be your last, 
Ye soon may pass away. 



(155) 



156 THE YEAR 1868. 

The fairest hopes, like flowers fade, 
Wealth's wings are ever plum'd, 

And those, who make the most parade, 
Are first to find the tomb. 



Those loving ones, you once caress'd, 

Are on the other shore. 
Those lips, you once so fondly pressed, 

Will blush for thee no more; 
Those eyes, on which you lov'd to gaze. 

Are clos'd in icy gloom; 
Those friends whom you were wont to praise, 

Lie cold within the tomb. 



Eed war has swept thy happy land, 

And a Golgotha made; 
You, on the brink of ruin, stand — 

Indulge not in parade — 
Hasten war's evil to repair. 

Seek not a lofty name; 
But dry the widow's, orphan's tear, 

And warm devotion's flame. 



THE YEAE 1868. 



157 



And like the sun, go on thy way, 

Dispensing warmth, and light, 
And brighter beam from day to day. 

To scatter moral night; 
And cheer the hills and valleys low. 

The moral soil increase; 
Till hearts shall wear a rosy glow. 

And bear the fruits of peace. 




14 



THE ROLLING DRUM. 



The moon shone out in pearly light, 

When I had ceas'd to roam, 
And with a guide to lead me right, 

Began to seek my home; 
But scarcely had we walk'd a mile. 

Before we heard a hum. 
Confusion making on the air, 

Like to a rolling drum. 

And when I ask'd my servant guide. 
What thought he of the sound; 

He said, that Sherman's troops had come, 
Are now in Barnwell town, 



158 



THE ROLLING DRUM. 159 

And that the rolling noise, we hear, 

That from the distance come, 
Is nothing more nor less, sir, than 

The rolling of the drum. 

Soon we came to where the pickets 

Were said by him to be; 
But saw we neither man nor beast, 

As far as we could see; 
But every now and then we heard 

That strange, yet louder hum, 
That plainly now to us bespoke; 

The rolling of the drum. 



And when I came to my lov'd home. 

And found my household there, 
I spoke in words encouraging 

Their loneliness to cheer; 
But while amid their joys and smiles 

In seeing I had come; 
We every now and then could hear, 

The rolling of the drum. 



160 THE EOLLING DEUM. 


And when the clock had struck its twelve, 


I laid me on my bed, 


To find refreshment in my sleep — 


To soothe my aching head; 


But all throughout the livelong night, 


With intermission some; 


We heard the same distracting noise; 


The rolling of the drum. 



And when they took their line of march 

To seek some other place; 
And far away beyond our sight, 

And nothing of them trace; 
Our oral nerves, so long beset 

With soundings of that hum, 
That every noise we took to be; 

The rolling of the drum. 




NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE. 



When first it was my lot to know 
The worth of love and beauty's glow; 
No one by me, so fair was seen, 
As thou, my loving Josephine. 

If in the field or rosy bow'r, 
I stoop'd to pluck a blushing flow'r; 
Thy mirror'd image there was seen — 
My sweet, my loving Josephine. 

And when I led thee to the shrine, 
And thou didst pledge thyself as mine; 
I felt a joy, I could not screen. 
In gaining thee, my Josephine. 

14* (161) 



162 NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE. 

How lovely then didst thou appear; 
In bridal dress, thy smiles to share; 
I well remember now the scene, 
Tho' years have fled, my Josephine. 

When I had chanc'd, on sea to roam, 
And tempest dashM the waves in foam; 
I thought thy spirit came between, 
And chid the waves, my Josephine. 

Where'er I go, 'mong friends or foe, 
I know not why, yet feel it so; 
Thine image then is present seen, 
Guarding my steps, my Josephine. 

On Austerlitz, where rose my star. 
Whose splendor lit the world afar; 
Thy spirit seem'd to intervene. 
And crowned the day, my Josephine. 

In all my wars, on Moscow's plain. 
Or Waterloo's, where piled the slain; 
I felt thy presence there hath been 
To shield from death, my Josephine. 



NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE. 163 

And here upon this lonely Isle, 
Where few are seen with me to smile; 
Thou'rt often in my dreaming seen — 
The same, dear, loving Josephine. 

O, never thee will I forget; 
But ever mourn my strange neglect; 
Ambition's wild, distracting scene 
Had made me sin, my Josephine. 

Forgive the wrong of act or tongue. 
Forget the tears, that I have wrung; 
And smile on him, who now has seen. 
How" dark his sin, my Josephine. 




WOMAN'S LOVE. 



[Some years ago, the author witnessed a most affecting scene. A man 
was to be executed. His wife remained with him, showing the greatest devo- 
tion. Just before his execution, she threw ber arms around his neck, and 
wept bitterly. "That is a true wife," said I. "She loves to the last." 
After his execution, she sat upon the coffin, that held his reroains, and 
followed him to his last resting-place.] 



When woman's love doth purely flow, 
No titles can such bliss bestow; 
No precious gem with it can vie, 
No wealth can its devotion buy; 
And tho' her fall has dimmed her brow, 
Yet to her soften'd rule, we bow. 
And for her love, her faults forget, 
Who makes this earth, an Eden yet. 



(164) 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 165 

Xo honors can such pleasure give; 
No heart, like her's can so forgive; 
No eyes such sparkling lustre throw; 
No lips such thrilling sweets bestow; 
In storm or calm, she's ever true; 
Refreshing, like the morning dew; 
And when affliction clouds our sky, 
She cheers the gloom, with angel smile. 

When home assumes a darksome hue, 
And disappointments throng in view; 
When cares corroding pale the cheek. 
And hearts for sorrow, scarce can speak; 
AVhen chilly wants oppress the soul. 
And death-clouds o'er the bosom roll — 
'Tis then she shines with purer light, 
As stars are wont in darkest night. 



In the dark prison she is found. 

Where her lov'd spouse in chains is bound; 

And sweetens for his fever'd lip 

Some cooling balm for him to sip; 



166 WOMAN'S LOVE. • 

And with her hands will ease the pain, 
Inflicted by the galling chain, 
And sit with folded wings like dove; 
And mourn for him, her prison'd love. 

Peace be to her, while she shall live; 
Her trivial faults, "we'll here forgive. 
And grateful bow before her shrine. 
And wreath her brow with fadeless vine; 
Whose genial love, like vernal year. 
Hath made our hearts to blossom here, 
While she alone, hath ruled the hour, 
And is to earth, its fairest flower. 




WHY DO YOU WEEP? 



Oh! I do grieve to tell thee now, 
What cause it is, that shades my brow; 
For once, like birds, that skim the sea, 
I too indulged in merry glee; 
But now I often shed me tears, 
As I do think of former years. 

Oh! lovely was my home to me; 
Its air I breathed was sweet and free, 
Its cloudless sky; its azure blue 
Were scenes, I always lov'd to view. 
Its blighted joys, now force these tears, 
As I do think of former years. 



(167) 



168 WHY DO YOU WEEP? 

My noble spouse, rush'd from my side, 
And sought to stem the hostile tide; 
But ah! he fell on battle plain, 
And faiPd the cause, he fought to gain; 
His fruitless death impels these tears, 
As I do think of former years. 

And often as I seek his tomb, 
And roses plant to cheer its gloom. 
And sit me there with folded wing. 
And try, like mourning dove to sing; 
There always come these gushing tears. 
As I do think of former years. 

And since his life has felt decay. 

Since his sweet smiles have passed away, 

Since all I love are buried here. 

And none are left, my smiles to share; 

My eyes are often bath'd with tears, 

As I do think of former years. 

The widow's drooping, weeping eye. 
The orphan's painful, piercing cry, 



WHY DO YOU WEEP? 



169 



The prison's vault, where honor lies, 
The broken heart, that vainly sighs, 
Do wring from me these bitter tears. 
As I do think of former years. 




15 



THE CITY'S HUM. 



I do not love the city's hum, 

The thronging crowd, that walk its street; 
It jars my sense, like rolling drum, 

And makes me sigh for some retreat; 
Some rural spot, where I may hear 

The mock-bird trill his varied note; 
Where I may breathe the fragrant air, 

And watch the streams, that seaward float. 

I love the country life to sing, 

The violet on its mossy bed. 
The glassy lake, the bubbling spring, 

And sweets, that blushing roses shed — 

(170) 



THE CITY'S HUM. 171 

O, I love, when I am sad, 

To hear the birds in bowers sing, 

To see the bees in honey clad, 

And butterflies on golden wing. 

And I do love the verdant tree, 

Whose arching limbs afar extend, 
That form a natural shade for me, 

Where breezes all their breath expend; 
And on whose branches flit the jay. 

And carols there his hasty note; 
And wren, and thrush, and red-bird gay. 

And swallows, that in circles float. 

I love the rosy country girls, 

Who scorn flirtation's artful show; 
Around whose neck hang native curls. 

Whose lips with rosy beauty glow, 
Whose fancies seldom trouble cost; 

Who artless are to please or bear; 
Who struggle, when discourag'd, most. 

And are in truth, what they appear. 



MY DEAFNESS. 



I am not sad; altho' 'tis true, 

I hear no voice of man, nor bird; 

Nor falling rain; nor dripping dew; 
Nor lowing of the grazing herd. 

And scarcely can I hear the crash 

Of thunder's peal, or cannon's roar, 

Or engine's whirling, noisy dash. 

Or stormy waves that beat the shore. 

And woman's voice, so sweet, so clear. 

So like the harp-strings' soothing sound. 

Has lost its magic spell to cheer; 

For silence vaults me all around. 

(172) . 



MY DEAFNESS. 173 


But 0, I see, and happy feel; 


Can gaze on woman^s lovely face, 


And to her glancing eyes, appeal. 


And learn her hidden thoughts to trace. 


And happier still, that I can view 


The comets, that do erring fly; 


And moon, and stars, and rainbow hue; 


And all that's fair in earth or sky. 


I am not sad; but glad to find. 


That I can see a world, like this — 


Can trace its beauties with my mind. 


And feel a rapture in its bliss. 


""-j^^m^ 


15* 



SPRING. 

"Hic Vee Purpukeum." — Virgil. 



I love, sweet Spring, to welcome thee; 
Thou art a pleasing guest to me; 
I love in woods and glens to trace 
The beauties of thy smiling face. 

The streams confin'd by icy chain. 
Now joyous flow to meet the main ; 
And spicy shrubs, beneath their tide, 
Are wash'd adown the mountain side. 

The earth is gay, with purple flowers; 
And fragrant are thy rosy bowers; 
The air, with warbling music glows, 
And weary herds in peace repose. 



(174) 



SPEING. 175 

In circling flights on azure air, 
The attic birds in troops appear ; 
And insects gay on golden wing, 
Murmur applause, to thee, sweet Spring. 

Soft saffron tints, with purple dye, 
At dusky eve, enrobe the sky. 
And while the air is calm and still. 
Is heard the sound of whip-poor-will. 

Oh! thou dost cheer this stricken earth. 
With merry songs, and jocund mirth; 
And long I'll love to feast my eye 
On scenes, alas! too soon to die. 

Since last thou wast on earth, sweet Spring, 
Gay hearts, that lov'd like mine to sing. 
Hearts, that lov'd thy balmy smiles, 
Have gone to bloom in other skies. 

And these, thy flowers, that look so gay, 
Like others too must pass away; 
For death's cold breath is on their brow. 
And some are fading, even now. 



176 SPRING. 

Life's Spring with me has passed away; 
My hairs, long since, have turn'd them gray, 
And those I lov'd in youth to see, 
Alas! but few are known to me. 

Farewell! Sweet Spring, but not for aye; 
Thou may'st not with me longer stay; 
I'll love to think of those sweet hours, 
I pass'd within thy rosy bowers. 

Thy warbling songs, thy floral bliss, 
Thy rosy cheek, thy honied kiss. 
Thy sweet distilling, balmy skies. 
Will long survive thy parting smiles. 

And I will grieve, when thou art gone; 
I'll seem forsaken and forlorn; 
My harp will strike some plaintive strain, 
And sigh, till thou return again. 




THE TRUE FRIEND. 



Not he a friend, who bids thee nature hate, — 
If rich, entice to squander thy estate, 
Or if to vice, in slightest way inclined, 
Would thee advise the gaming hall to find; 
And when thy honor and thy wealth have fled, 
To look on thee, as one among the dead; 
Ah! trust him not, he'll never prove a friend, 
Who ill advise, to gain a selfish end. 

But he a friend, that doth persuasive say; 
Be sweet and smiling, as an April day. 
And faithful doth thy little faults review, 
And candid bring them to thy honest view; 

(177) 



178 



THE TEUE FEIEND. 



Who warns of paths, that do to evil lead, 
And succor brings, when greatest is thy need- 
Him love and cherish, with a tender care; 
For such alone, deserves your friendship here. 




THE INVITATION. 



[In the town of Beaufort, S. C, my native place, there was a pond of trans- 
parent water, which I frequently visited in my boyhood. Near this pond stood 
an unpretending house, occupied by a family, whose eldest son committed suicide 
by taking laudanum. I saw him before he died. Looking his mother in the 
face, with a fixedness of countenance, that appalled me, he said: "You are the 
cause of this." Not very far off stood an old brick meeting-house, built proba- 
bly before the Revolution, and used I think, as a place of worship by the Episco- 
palians. This house was in ruins. The ivy had covered its walls ; yet here and 
there were flowers in the season of Spring, and birds sang merrily. This place 
was a favorite haunt of mine in my boyhood, and I love even to this day, to 
think of the many pleasant hours I passed there.] 



Reader, if thou wouldst learn with me to prize 
The vernal scenes, that gladdened once my eyes; 
Come go with me, ere blushing Spring hath flown, 
And see the woods, with flowers overgrown; 
Where cares and sorrows never once are seen ; 
Where all is lovely, beautiful and green; 

(179) 



180 THE INVITATION. 

Where you may see the blue-eyed daisies fair, 
The crocus, and narcissus, blooming near; 
No sorrows know these pretty, blushing flow'rs; 
But man alone, who soiled his native powers; 
Whose crime and guilt upon us spectral glare. 
And force from us the tribute of a tear. 

Here we shall find a pleasant, grateful shade; 
Where insects on their tiny wings parade; 
Where dancing leaves breathe out a merry song. 
And warbling birds in rosy bow'rs throng; 
Where the wood-pecker whets his horny bill. 
And vagrant bees, their thighs with honey fill. 
And the old fane, with ivy-covered roof. 
Stands spectre-like from haunts of men, aloof; 
While the soft winds, in balmy currents flow, 
From yonder lake to cool the solar glow. 




THE LOSS OF THE EVENING STAR. 



She is no more, the Evening Star; 

She has forever set, 
Forever sank in ocean far, 

With wailings and regret; 
And tho' she often sail'd the sea. 

And brav'd the tempest roar, 
'Twas hers, ill-fated ship to be, 

A wreck to float no more. 

'Twas when the sun, the solar star, 

Was sinking in the West, 
That stormy winds began to mar 

The ocean's tranquil breast; 

16 • (181) 



182 LOSS OF THE EVENING STAE. 

Till fiercer blew, the wrecking blast, 
Surging along the main, 

That made her tremble to her mast, 
And all her timbers strain. 



Ah! me, what scenes we now behold. 

What painful wailings hear! 
What horrid shrieks from young and old! 

What bowlings of despair! 
For death is brooding o'er that ship, 

With unrelenting eye. 
To place his signet on each lip. 

And hush each piercing cry. 



Alas! she sinks beneath the wave. 

Far down the deep impell'd; 
And many found a liquid grave, 

Uncoffin'd and unknelFd; 
The dreadful scene appals the sight. 

The heart grows sick and pale. 
To see the Evening Star, so bright. 

Sink helpless in the gale. 



LOSS OF THE EVENING STAE. 183 

I too was once upon the sea, 

And heard the tempest roar; 
So dark the night, we could not see, 

While waves came dashing o'er ; 
My mother's shriek, my sister's wail. 

My brother's tearful eye. 
Had taught me in that dreadful gale. 

How awful, thus to die. 



Ah! ye lost ones, who sank in death. 

Amid your tears and griefs; 
Ye long shall sleep in ocean's depth. 

Beside its coral reefs; 
And screaming birds, that haunt the seas, 

And rolling of the surge. 
And moanings of the dying breeze, 

Will sing your funeral dirge. 



Alas! but few may meet again 
Upon that blissful shore; 

Where sainted ones shall feel no pain. 
Shall part them never more; 



184 



LOSS OF THE EVENING STAE. 



Where they shall find a tranquil rest, 

Unawed by ocean roar, 
Safe sheltered in the Saviour^s breast, 

Where storms shall wreck no more. 







MY MOTHER. 



How sweet to my mind, are the days that have fled, 

When memory bids them before me appear, 
Tlie violet, blushing upon its low bed. 

The myrtle tree branches, entwining the pear. 
The mulberry shade, and the mill with its whirl. 

And the thatch-covered shed, that shaded the 
well, 
And my dear young mother, with her dangling curl. 

That was happy with me, in her cottage to 
dwell ; 
My rosy-lip mother, my dimpled-cheek mother. 

My smiling sweet mother, that lov'd me so well. 

16* (185) 



186 MY MOTHER. 

And I lov'd her beyond all creatures I knew; 

She often to me would appear in my dream; 
Her image so lovely, so grateful to view, 

Was ever to me, a most beautiful theme; 
And at home, or abroad, I felt her my world. 

Whose virtues enthralFd, with a magical spell; 
Whose smile, every cloud from my bosom had 
hurled ; 

Who was happy with me, in her cottage to 
dwell; 
My rosy-lip mother, my dimpled-cheek mother. 

My smiling sweet mother, that lov'd me so well. 



How lovely the scene, while we stood near the grove. 

Where the orange blossoms had scented the air; 
And she calPd me her boy, her idol and love. 

And the star of her hope to beam on her here; 
Then kiss'd me, and smiled, like a rosy-tint pearl. 

While her feelings maternal began up to well; 
And with her soft fingers, she braided my curl; 

And said, I am happy with you, here to dwell; 
My rosy-lip mother, my dimpled-cheek mother. 

My smiling sweet mother, that lov'd me so well. 



MY MOTHER. 



187 



But, Ah ! dark sorrows have long shaded her brow ; 

She smiles not as pretty, as when I was young ; 
But the same loving feeling possesses her now, 

As when in the cradle, for me she had sung; 
When with her soft fingers my tresses she curled, 

And to please me some pretty story would tell; 
And said you are dearer to me than the world, 

I am happy with thee in my cottage to dwell, 
My now widowed mother, my aged, dear mother. 

My smiling sweet mother, that loves me yet well. 




THE MISER. 



High in a loft, that wore a dusky hue^ 

Where meanest fixtures graced its blacken'd 
floor, 

And bed offensive to the gazing view, 

There liv'd a miser, thought by many poor. 

Beneath that bed so humble to the sight. 
Gold coins lay hid within an iron door. 

And every morn, and noon, and dusky night. 

He, silent there, would count his treasure o'er. 

His eyes were sunken deep within his brow, 
A livid paleness o'er his features crept. 

His glaring eyes around he'd often throw. 
As thro' the night, his fitful vigils kept. 

(188) 



THE MISEE. 189 

A dingy sheet o'erspread his humble cot — 

His coat, so torn, it pained the gazing eye, 

His matted hair was tangled to a knot, 

And his coarse beard grew nearly to his thigh. 

His toes protruded from his broken boots, 
A rusty razor lay with open blade. 

And on a chair, were two old tattered suits, 

And shaving bru^h of common feathers made. 

Coarse bread upon a piny table sat. 

So musty, one was forced to hold his breath, 
The water looked as if some filthy rat. 

Had long indulg'd ablution for his health. 

Along the wall, the spider wove his web, 

And roaches gamboled on the dusty shelves, 

And crickets chirped beneath his gloomy bed. 

And spectral forms loom'd up, like fairy elves. 

In friendship's ties, he could no pleasure find; 

No beauty saw, where blushing Spring had trod; 
No sweet emotions thrill'd his barren mind — 

His gold became his idol, and his God. 



190 THE MISEE. 

Dark, pitchy clouds rose threat'ning on the sight, 
And howling tempest swept thro' vale and dell, 

And thunder's peal made hideous more the night, 
When a stray bolt, upon him crushing fell. 

No eyes were seen to weep his horrid death; 

No lip had said, 'twas pity he had died. 
And those, who scorned him, fattened on that wealth. 

Which to himself, he miserly denied. 

Go learn from nature, that he richer grows. 

Who kindness scatters round him far and wide ; 

And bread, that man, upon the water throws. 
Will come enrich'd on the returning tide. 




DISAPPOINTMENT. 



When I was joung, and life was with me strong, 
In science' rank I studied to belong; 
But the bright hopes, that gleam'd upon my eye, 
Grew dim, as months and seasons roll'd them by. 

I thought if once, I stood in need of aid — 
Long troops of friends around me would parade, 
And speak kind words to stimulate me on; 
But all my hopes, were wither'd, one by one. 

Some seeming good would rise before my view, 
And strong impelPd, I restless would pursue; 
And tho' deceived, I tried it o'er again, 
Like baffled child, the butterfly, to gain. 

(191) 



192 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 



Fated it seems, for me to live in care ; 
To taste the gall of disappointment here; 
To see that hope, so pleasing in the Spring, 
In Autumn's life to fold its drooping wing. 




A WISH. 



I ask not wealth to pamper here my life, 

Nor fame, nor sounding titles to be given; 
But a good, prudent, pious, loving wife. 

Who can forgive, as freely, as forgiv'n; 
Nor do I care about a pretty face, 

ISTor lily hands, nor graceful Grecian nose, 
Nor royal lineage, of an ancient race. 

Nor wasp-like shape, nor thin consumptive 
clothes. 

I wish her prudent, generous and wise, 

With heart to sympathize, with great and small; 

And in emergence, promptly to arise. 

Nor hasty speak, nor angrily to bawl ; 

17 (193) 



194 



A WISH. 



And by no means a busy body be; 

But shape her household, with attentive care, 
That home may be, the fairest spot to me. 

Where I, all times, may highest pleasure share. 




BAYARD. 

"Chevalier sans peur et sans repeoche." 



He was the bravest of the brave, 

A terror to his foe, 
And where the battle fiercest rage, 

He hastened there to go ; 
And with his voice, and waving lance. 

With peals of battle cry, 
Infus'd his spirit in his troops 

To conquer or to die. 

And yet 'twas only on the field — 
To gain the victor's place, 

That he would strike with fearful zeal 
His foeman in the face; 



(195) 



196 BAYAED. 

For when the war clouds, rolling dun, 
Had pass'd awaj above, 

His lion fierceness would assume 
The spirit of the dove. 



At Romagnano, when the French, 

Had lost their battle ground, 
In seeking to protect the rear. 

He fell by mortal wound ; 
But ere he died, "Take me not hence," 

He said, with fainting breath ; 
"But let me face the foeman here. 

And brave him in my death." 



And so he laid upon the field, 

With hands upon his lance, 
And when the Duke of Bourbon came, 

The Constable of France ; 
And saw the noble Knight unmov'd, 

Unaw'd by dying fears ; 
He stoop'd beside his bleeding form. 

And bath'd him with his tears. 



BAYAKD. 197 

Weep not for me; no, Bourbon, no, 

But for your own dark stain; 
I've battled for my country's right; 

But you to pile her slain; 
No trait'rous deed has mark'd my life, — 

Untarnished is my name; 
Thy perfidy and country's wrong, 

Shall cover thee with shame. 

Thus Bayard spoke; then breathed his last 

Upon the battle-field. 
Where he was never known, as knight. 

In bravery to yield, 
Whose memory long, we'll love to think — 

To consecrate his name; 
And wreath a laurel gem to deck 

The glory of his fame. 






17* 



THE STEAMER MAGNOLIA. 



[I took passage in this steamer from Charleston, in July, ISGOjforNew York. 
The passage was a very pleasant one, and all arrived safely, except one, who died 
from the effects of heat, caused in the furnace room ] 



The morning sun, in July rose, 

The fifteenth, as I think, 
When I, on the Magnolia sail VI, 

With her to swim or sink. 

The breeze was fair, and clear the sky, 
In trim from stern to stem ; 

With all on board, and hawser free; 
We steam'd at nine, A.M. 

We pass'd Fort Pinckney, Sumter too, 
Whose walls in ruins lay; 

And frowning Moultrie, whose war dogs 
Once thundered in the bay. 



(198) 



THE STEAMER MAGNOLIA. 199 

The city faded on our sight — 

Dark waves rolFd up to view; 

And birds, that make their homes the sea, 
Around us, merry flew. 

But ah! a human form I see. 

Senseless on deck to lie; 
Whose features were so death-like pale — 

Poor man ! said I, he'll die. 

And true, he died, a stranger there 

To all the crew and me; 
And by the moonlight, we prepar'd 

His burial for the sea. 

A solemn stillness brooded round. 

While we engag'd in prayer; 
And eyes that scarcely ever wept, 

Now bath'd his humble bier. 

As "dust to dust," fell from the lip. 

In solemn accents slow; 
We buried him, with pious hands, 

Down in the ocean low. 



200 



THE STEAMEE MAGNOLIA. 



A moment; and the steamer sped, 
Careless she seem'd to me; 

As if no one, on board had found 
A grave within the sea. 




THE BURNING OF BARNWELL, S. C. 



The sun was sinking in the West, 
And birds and beasts had sought their rest; 
When Sherman's troops, in lengthenM train, 
March'd forward to the music's strain. 

Like bees in vernal time, they spread. 
Inspiring fear, where'er they tread; 
Whose bugle, drum, and shrilly fife, 
Forewarned us of the coming strife. 

And some, who view'd with strange delight 
This pageantry of martial might. 
Were forc'd, alas! too soon to see 
Their village made a burning sea. 

(201) 



202 THE BURNING OF BARNWELL. 

Far as the eye could gain a view, 
The skies assum'd a fiery hue; 
And dwellings, once the pride of all, 
Were doom'd in anger thus to fall. 

Long months of silence, and of gloom, 
Seem now these ruins to entomb; 
And loving hearts will throb in pain. 
Ere these lost homes shall smile again. 

Farewell, lost homes! farewell, farewell. 
With you, we never more shall dwell; 
Yet we will here your sorrows share. 
And bathe your ruins with a tear. 




TO JULIA B- 



[On her return home, after the bnming of Barnwell village.] 



It is with joy, we welcome thee, 
Back to thy home's delight; 

And pray, that you may never see 
Such scenes, we saw that night. 

Tho' far away we thought of thee, 
Thought of thy lonely state. 

And long'd that we had wings to flee, 
And tidings glad relate. 

But, ah! around us was a blaze — 



Strange soldiers walked our street; 
And wheresoever, we turn'd to gaze. 
We saw no friend to greet. 



(203) 



204 TO JULIA B. 

Happy ! thrice happy ! was your lot 

To see no hostile fire; 
To find from home, some lonely spot, 

Free from the Northmen's ire. 

There is a sweetness in one's home, 

That nothing can supply; 
And tho' from it, we often roam. 

As often for it sigh. 

And yet for thee, there is above, 
A sweeter home than this — 

A home, where all is peace and love — 
A home, where all is bliss. 

And from that home, you'll part no more; 

Nor ever feel a pain; 
Nor ever hear the cannon's roar; 

Nor weep a brother slain. 




EARLY FLOWERS. 



O, I do love the early flowers^ 

And wish they bloom'd in every place; 
I love to see them at all hours, 

To me, they wear a pleasing face. 

The violet, with its eye of blue, 

The hyacinth and daisy fair, 
I love in early Spring to view, 

And breathe their sweets in morning air. 

There is a joy in early flowers. 

That makes me love with them to be; 

They always please my vacant hours. 

And cheer, when earth looks dark to me. 

18 . (205) 



206 



EAELY FLOWERS. 



Happy, I'll be to know my tomb 

Is made upon some flow'ry spot, 

Where roses, fragrant, there shall bloom, 
And them, among, forget-me-not. 




KINDNESS. 



Ah! me, if kindness were to die^ 

We'd soon deplore our fate, 
Thick clouds would darken all our sky, 

And sad would be our state; 
For if love's eye beamed not with light, 

Our pathway here to cheer, 
Our hearts would wear a gloomy night, 

And perish in despair. 

But kindness, like the fragrant rose, 
Breathes on the soul a balm; 

It soothes, like lute at evening's close. 
When all around is calm; 



(207) 



208 KINDNESS. 

It brings a joy to man, when lost, 

A beacon light on shore, 
That points the seaman, tempest-tost, 

To where the breakers roar. 

Tho' fevered pulse may make us weak, 

And loved ones disappear, 
And poverty, with hollow cheek. 

May spectral on us glare; 
Yet if but kindness shed its light, 

^T will ease the reigning gloom, — 
Tho' death, itself may come to blight, 

'T will cheer us to the tomb. 

Then loving be, to rich and poor, 

To beasts and birds of air, 
And sunny smiles around thee pour. 

Earth's gloominess, to cheer. 
And those, whose eyes are bathed in tears, 

Will rise to call thee blest; 
The widows' and the orphans' prayers 

Will soothe thy pillowed rest. 



I AM COMING. 



Love, ye shall not long be waiting, 

I'm rising on the wing — 
O, abandon your complaining, 

Warm sun, I soon shall bring — 
Lo ! the skylark, now is singing, 

And frisking lambs are seen. 
The groves, with notes are ringing, 

The lawn is robed in green. 

With a sunbeam wand I'm striking 

The ice-bound fettered lake. 
And the fisher now is pike-ing 

Along the marshy brake, 

18^ (209) 



210 I AM COMING. 

And the snow-king I am driving 
Away from busy men, 

And the swarming bees are hiving 
In woody groves and glen. 



On hills and vales and mountain, 

I'm painting flowers gay, 
I am sparkling in the fountain. 

With many diamond ray; 
On the violet, I am throwing, 

A flush of purple hue. 
And on the primrose, pouring 

The gems of morning dew. 



I am in the leaflet, dancing, 

And in the forest Avild, 
In the sunbeams, that are glancing. 

In merry laugh of child ; 
In the morning dew, I'm glistening, 

And many brilliants show; 
In the partridge, that is whistling, 

And flowers, that blusliino; o-low. 



I AM COMING. 211 


O^ I need no trumpet's sounding 


To say, that I am here; 


For my steps are light and bounding, 


I'm noticed every where; 


And my rosy curls are streaming, 


Like meteor in the sky. 


And awake, asleep or dreaming, 


I'm lov'd, where'er I fly. 


I breathe around a cheerfulness. 


In valley, dale, and hill; 


In fragrant lawns and wilderness; 


In silver rippling rill; 


At the side of steepy mountain, 


Where rushing cascades fall. 


And in grove-embower' d fountain. 


I scatter health for all. 


Rise now, my love, I am blooming; 


My cheeks are blushing red. 


And my first-born flow'rs are drooping 


Upon their lonely bed; 



212 



I AM COMING. 



And the warbling birds are singing, 

And rosy is the day; 
Gay girls, sweet flowers are bringing 

To crown the Queen of May. 




NOBLE HARRY. 



[On the death of my pet dog Harry, which was killed by some ferocious 
dogs in my absence from home.] 



Life with thee had just begun, 

My much lov'd pet; 
And thy pranks, and romping fun 

Were warmly met; 
Noble in death, as in thy life, 
Ready 'gainst odds to meet the strife, 
Greatly belov'd by me and wife — 

Noble Harry ! 

To me, thou wast beautiful. 

With brow of white ; 
To my call, most dutiful. 

Showing delight; 



(213) 



214 NOBLE HARRY. 



Companion and domestic pride, 
That near didst keep thee at my side, 
And fearless rush, where I would guide- 
Noble Harry! 



Thy brief life knew no sorrow, 

All was sunshine; 
Watchful eyes, thee would follow, — 

Peace was thine; 
At morn and noon, and closing day, 
We found thee always lively, gay; 
But death has turned thy form to clay- 
Noble Harry! 



Upon the sofa, every day, 

'Twas thy delight 
To pass some time with me in play — 

A pleasing sight; 
But now I look in vain for thee. 
Whose gambols gave such joy to me, 
Alas! no more again to see — 
^ Noble Harry! 



NOBLE HAERY. 215 

Death on the dogs that slew thee, 

Helpless, alone, 
Whose cries, mov'd not their pity — 

Vile brutes, o'ergrown; 
Thou'rt in my mind, still undecay'd. 
For thee, my brow will wear a shade, 
And offerings on thy grave be paid — 

Noble Harry! 



I miss thee at the eventide. 

When rabbits prowl. 
And fi'ightenM, in their coverts hide. 

Dreading thy howl; 
I miss thy nimble, stately tread, 
The dish, where thou wast gen'rous fed. 
And box, that held thy tiny bed — 

Noble Harry ! 



Sad! but farewell, forever! 

Never to see; 
Tho' brute, generous and clever, 

Belov'd by me; 



216 NOBLE HAERY. 



Soon, thee, 1^11 follow, all must die; 
And low, like thee the proud must lie; 
Farewell! farewell! with tearful eye — 

Noble Harry! 




TO BIRDS EATING MY GRAPES. 



[I live in a small plain cottage surrounded with various trees, flowers and 
shrubbery. I have various fruits, and the birds come and go, at their pleasure. 
I allow no one to molest them, and the consequence is, that they are very 
gentle. We were very much amused, not long since in seeing two mock- 
birds dance, very near to us. My wife and myself laughed heartily. They 
moved forward, then backward, then right and left, with all the gracefulness 
peculiar to the ball-room. Whether they danced for us, or not, I cannot say, 
but they seemed very happy, and we highly appreciated the skill they dis- 
played in their dancing capacities.] 



Dear birds, ye are a pleasure to me, 

Indulge yourselves with my grapes; 
I wish you here to be perfectly free, 

Whether fair or homely your shapes; 
And Bacchus quaff, the merry old wag. 

Nor think ye to fly or to run, 
Kor in the green bush, to loiter or lag; 

For fear, I may shoot with my gun. 

19 (217) 



218 TO BIRDS EATING MY GRAPES. 

YouVe ate, and found these grapes very fine, 

Yet more you may sip from the cell, 
And fearless sport upon the green vine, 

And my feelings to other birds tell; 
For I have a love for the warbling throng, 

And I wish them here to be free. 
To come and go, and carol a song. 

To enliven the hours for me. 



Far be it from me to drive you away. 

Ye mock-birds, with star-ashy wing. 
That trill your notes on the myrtle spray. 

Near where the blue violets spring — 
Unrivaird songsters I nimble and fleet. 

The plainest of all the bird -throng; 
Your presence to me is grateful and sweet. 

And varied and lovely your song. 



Ye're welcome too, ye birds with red caps. 
Whose pinions are dotted with stars; 

Fierce and warlike, you quarrelsome chaps, 
Dress'd up in your plumage, like Mars; 



TO BIRDS EATING MY GRAPES. 219 

These grapes, ye may sip, the blue or the red; 

For I love your fierceness to see, 
So soldier-like, ye carry your head. 

So blithe, and so happy are ye. 

A welcome too, I give thee, blue jay. 

That freely my grapes dost devour, 
A scourge to nests, where smaller birds lay, 

In groves, in vineyards, or bower; 
How quietly thou dost sit on the tree, 

Now taking thy ease and thy time — 
Nodding, as if, thou'rt saying to me. 

These grapes, sir, are really sublime. 



Dear birds, your joys are many and fine. 

At will with your wings, ye may roam. 
The forest groves, their branches entwine 

To yield you a bowery home; 
No cares have ye, for fly where ye may, 

The earth its rich fruitage doth give. 
And tho' like man, ye are passing away. 

Yet happy and merry ye live. 



220 TO BIEDS EATING MY GEAPES. 

Ye're welcome, where the scuppernong grows; 

All times, at your will ye may come, 
'No gun shall mar a feather of yours, 

Or fright you away from my home — 
Protection I'll give, by day and by night, 

E-egardless of plumage or shape. 
So ye shall hold, in friendship the right, 

To sip the sweets of my grape. 





PROSERPINE. 



Thou wast a very pretty girl, 
With many a wavy, flaxen curl; 
Like hyacinth, thine eyes were blue, 
And flushed thy cheeks, with rosy hue ; 
Thy hands were snowy, lily white, 
Thy steps, like Cinderella's, quite; 
A paragon in beauty thou. 
Whose type was stamp'd upon thy brow. 

19- (221) 



222 PEOSEEPINE. 

Thy lovely nature, here so sweet, 
Did seek some avocation meet — 
Hence ^twas thine to stray in meadows, 
To repose in flow'ry shadoAvs, 
To walk on Enna's rosy plains. 
To hear the warbler^s merry strains. 
To stand upon the streamlet^s shore. 
And hear its tiny wavelets roar; 
To while away thy leisure hours. 
In verdant plains and rosy bowers. 

Enamor'd were the gods with thee, 

Pluto, especially I see; 

For in thy rural pleasures, he, 

With trident made a passage free. 

And rose from out his dark domain. 

Close to Enna's floAvery plain; 

And bore thee down the fountain wave. 

Thro' opening, which his trident gave; 

]N'o more to live a single life; 

But blest with thee, a pretty wife. 

Thy fond mother, lovely Ceres, 
At thy loss, was ill at ease, 



PROSERPINE. 223 

As mothers no doubt, often are, 

When daughters wed beneath their star. 

Distress 'd she sought around for thee, 

All o'er the land, all o'er the sea; 

And wept that you should live with him, 

Whose empire is so dreadful dim. 

So hastily to Jove she wxnt. 

And to him all her mind unbent; 

And urg'd on him, with reasons strong. 

To punish this most flagrant wrong; 

But the old Elysian Knight 

Heard the story with delight. 

And thought the marriage a good thing. 

If her daughter had been willing; 

And so he told the good old lady, 

Xo more to fret, and go her crazy; 

But let alone her Proserpine, 

The match perhaps may turn out fine: 

But Mrs. Ceres made a fuss, 

And things were growing to a muss; 

She shook her fist in old Jove's face. 

And said his rule was a disgrace; 

Till Jupiter to hush the matter; 

To put an end to further clatter, 



224 



PEOSERPINE. 



Dispos'd of her fond daughter so, 
Six months with her, six with Pluto; 
But Mrs. Ceres looked derision 
At his lordship's strange decision, 
When Jove's right hand, vibrating red, 
Hurl'd thunderbolts about her head; 
When Mrs. Ceres fled his clime. 
And reached her home in splendid time. 



I AM TO BE MARRIED, CHRISTMAS NIGHT, 



Youths many woo'd me, mother, 

To gain this hand of mine ; 
Young Darlington and Diver, 

John Remington and Kline; 
But none so pleas'd me, mother. 

As Mr. Rufus Bright, 
And I'm to be married, mother. 

To be married, Christmas night. 

Xow make my dresses, mother, 
Soon have them ready, dear, 

That finely round the altar, 
I may that night appear; 



(225) 



226 I'M TO BE MAREIED CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 

For of all, that shall be present, 
1^11 make the merriest sight; 

For I^m to be married, mother, 

To be married Christmas night. 



"They call me cruel-hearted, 

I care not Avhat they say;" 
For in my marriage, mother, 

I ought to have my way, 
And if I some, rejected. 

It gave me no delight; 
For I^m to be married, mother. 

To be married Christmas night. 



They say I woo'd him, mother; 

But this is false, you know, 
I only sent him bouquets. 

Some long, long time ago; 
Believe me, dearest mother, 

I never courted Bright; 
He always ask^d me, mother. 

To marry Christmas night. 



I'M TO BE MAERIED CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 227 

They say, I kissed him, mother, 

While rocking in his chair; 
Some words, I only whisper'd; 

For him alone to hear; 
I care not for it, mother, 

I care not for their spite. 
For I'm to be married, mother. 

To be married Christmas night. 



I walk'd along the valley. 

Where grows an oaken tree; 
I met Susannah Longs treet, 

She would not speak to me; 
She is -jealous, mother, jealous, 

And so is Lucy Dwight; 
For I'm to be married, mother, 

To be married Christmas night. 

Let Carrie go and gather. 

Some Christmas berries gay. 

And wreath them into garlands 
To deck the passage way; 



228 I'M TO BE MAEEIED CHEISTMAS NIGHT. 

And let the buraing cressets 
Pour forth a blazing light; 

For I^m to be married, mother, 

To be married Christmas night. 



Prepare the table, mother, 

With cakes and custards fine. 
With raisins and with almonds. 

And best Madeira wine; 
And let the flute and timbrel, 

Give music to delight; 
For I^m to be married, mother. 

To be married Christmas night. 



So now be ready, mother. 

With lace and satin fine, 
That in my bridal dresses, 

I may the maids outshine; 
And round the altar glitter, 

With many diamonds bright: 
For I'm to be married, mother, 

To be married Christmas night. 



TO LOVE. 

"Omnia vincet amor; et nos cedamus amoei." 



We own thy strange, mysterious power, 

A universal truth; 
The sexes all, birds, beasts and flower, 

The virgin and the youth. 
Betray their secret passions in their looks; 

O Love! 
Which we do learn without recourse to books. 

Thou hast no special form or shape 

To win the youthful heart; 
Sometimes 'tis done by mourning crape. 

Or by flirtation^s art. 
Or ruby lips, or smiles, or rosy cheek; 

O Love! 
Or some sweet words, thy lips may chance to speak. 

20 (229) 



230 TO LOVE. 

A feeling stirs the heart of him, 

Who slightly feels at first; 
But soon it rises to the brim, 

Increasing more in thirst, 
Till he is fetter'd with thy noiseless chain; 

O Love! 
Whose silken cords may yield delight or pain. 

Intent^ thou'lt watch the lisping lip, 

To catch some pleasing sound, 
Whose words, like nectar dews, thou'lt sip, 

To soothe thy heart around; 
And fancy to thyself a grateful bliss; 

O Love! 
When thou shalt there imprint a balmy kiss. 

And shouldst thou fail to gain the hand 

Of thy sweet virgin, fair, 
Wilt pensive look, and trembling stand. 

And foolish wilt appear; 
Then rave, or die, or gloomy wear thy chain; 

O Love ! 
Till time, with soothing balm, shall ease thy pain. 



TO LOVE. 231 

The student, pleasures in thee, find, 

And Science calls tliee gay. 
And says, thou dost unfit the mind, 

Its powers to display ; 
But thou, this declaration dost deny; 

O Love! 
And say'st, "My strength doth plume their wings 
to fly." 

The merchant values thee not much; 

His eyes no profit see; 
He rates a sigh, as priest the church. 

Or lawyer would a fee; 
But all fi^r this, the world will fi^r thee sigh, 

O Love! 
And court thy friendship with a tearful eye. 

Thou hast no eye, with which to see; 

For thou, 'tis said art blind; 
A pallid cheek, a crooked knee, 

A selfish, narrow mind. 
Will often make thee breathe a tender sio;h ; 

O Love! 
And grieve thyself to death, should she deny. 



232 TO LOVE. 

Both kings and queens have felt thy pow'r; 

The master and the slave; 
And knights of Mars' reputed flow'r, 

The gentleman and knave; 
And every age has added to thy fame; 

O Love! 
And nations yet unborn shall feel thy flame. 

To thee, we would not here complain; 

Nor wish thy power less; 
But praise thee, for thy soften'd reign, 

Whose sceptre is to bless; 
For if thou should'st withdraw thy power here; 

O Love! 
A gloomy scene would mantle all this sphere. 

Proud science, eloquence and art. 

The soul-inspiring kiss, 
The soft endearments of the heart, 

The social tea and bliss. 
Would cease without a jocund word, or wit; 

O Love! 
And on each brow a gloomy thought would sit. 



TO LOVE. 233 

Some maid may wish her beau to wed, 

And parents may object; 
Because he is too poorly bred 

To gain a high respect; 
And then she will elope by stealthy flight; 

O Love! 
Perchance by day, or in some stormy night. 

We do not praise thee much for this; 

For sometimes, it is found 
That those who run, conjugal bliss. 

Does not with them abound; 
And they reflect upon thy merits strong; 

O Love! 
Whose nuptial vows do not continue long. 

But no dishonor, would we say. 

Is here attached to thee; 
Their hearts could bear them no delay. 

In unity to be; 
And where paternal rule is not in force; 

O Love! 
Tliey sometimes will resort to such a course. 

20* 



234 TO LOVE. 


And some again will weep and sigh, • 


If parents disagree, 


Perchance they may with poison die, 


Than not their lovers' be; 


For woman's heart is like the temper'd steel; 


O Love! 


That rather break, than strong coercion feel. 


These are exceptions to thy sway; 


The rose must have its thorn; 


The pleasures of a wedding day, 


The gushing hopes, new-born. 


Will crown thy rule, the sweetest of the earth ; 


O Love! 


And long enhance the glories of thy birth. 


Thy blessings rich, around we see. 


The happy spouse and wife, 


The harmony and unity, 


The smiles of married life, 


And am'rous songs of birds Avithin their bow'rs; 


O Love! 


With all the rosy tints of fragrant flow'rs. 



TO LOVE. 


235 


The rainboWj we may gaze upon, 


' 


And on the surging sea, 




Or golden tints of setting sun, 




And feel us to be free; 




But if we once shall wear thy silken chains, 


O Love! 




We ne'er can break the bond, howe'er it 


pains. 


A season special here is thine, 




When peace is in the land. 




When bloom the olive and the vine, 




When nations join their hand. 




^Tis then thy path, with flowers sweet are 


strown ; 


OLove! 




And smiling hearts the soft impeachment 


own. 


Th' excitement of the bugle's blast, 




The march and pale disease. 


, 


The strength and spirit fading fast, 




The want of social ease. 




Will lessen much the glory of thy name; 




O Love! 




And laurels few will wreath thy brow with fame. 



236 TO LOVE. 

Diffusive, like the rays, that peer, 

Where smallest chinks are found, 

Thy magic beams, unseen, but clear, 
Invest us all around. 

Whose weight we feel, by ounces, grains and pound ; 
O Love! 

As sparkling eyes and ruby lips abound. 

Thy blindness leads to strange mistake. 

And many pranks are play'd; 
A man of Lilliputian make. 

Will wed some monstrous maid. 
And in his pride w^ill wear a haughty mien ; 

O Love ! 
Unconscious how ridiculous the scene. 

The artist's skill could not express, 

So well without thy grace, 
The flush of beauty in distress, 

With eloquence of face; 
But cold, with no imagination wrought; 

O Love! 
His paintings would suggest no noble thought. 



TO LOVE. 237 

'Tis thine to stir the poet's heart, 

Inspire his inmost soul, 
And strange, mysterious gifts impart, 

An essence to the whole. 
Condensing and inflaming all with fire; 

O Love ! 
To rouse in strains sublime the breathing lyre. 

Thou dwellest in the rainbow hue. 

And in the blushing rose. 
In distillations of the dew, 

In sunset's purple close. 
And stars, sun, moon, seasons and the shower; 

O Love ! 
Are but reflections of thy balmy power. 

'Tis not alone in man, thou art, 

When nuptial hands unite ; 
Thou dwellest purer in the heart, 

AVhere rules celestial light. 
Where friendship doth from higher feelings flow; 

O Love! 
Than e'er was felt or known to man below. 



238 TO LOVE. 

No one thy birth, had ever sung; 

Ere morning stars had shone, 
Ere angels first, their harps had strung, 

Thou wast with God alone, 
And didst dictate redemption's noble plan; 

O Love ! 
Ere angels thought how best to rescue man. 

Then dwell with me, while here I live ; 

Nor leave me, when I die; 
To thee, this heart, I'll ever give. 

And at thv altar, lie, 
And as my hand to one on earth is giv'n ; 

O Love! 
Reserve my soul for Him, who rules in Heav'n. 




THE HUSBAND'S REPLY, 



Say not, my dear, that I have grown 
Cold in my love to thee ; 

No vestige of it yet has flown, 
It bubbles up as free, 

And sparkles with as bright a glow. 

As when it first began to flow. 

Let no such thought distress thy mind; 

My love is still the same, 
And on reflection, you will find 

No waning of its flame ; 
For like the noiseless, gliding sea, 
'Tis deeper than it seems to be. 



(239) 



240 THE HUSBAND'S REPLY. 

They say, the feathers of the Swan, 

Are whiter, as he grows, 
And love, the longer is its dawn. 

In purer current flows. 
And hearts, that wed for love alone. 
Are never by dissensions torn. 

Long years have furrow 'd deep thy brow, 
And chang'd thy hairs to gray; 

But thou art lovelier to me now, 
Than on thy bridal day; 

For a ripe age, so rich as thine, 

Doth please the more, as years decline. 

Then still on me bestow thy smile, 

Still be to me, as kind. 
Still glance on me a loving eye, 

And say, " O never mind ;" 
Then every kindly look from thee 
Will be like perfume breathed on me. 

Then let us be to each, a light, 
I love a sun to thee; 



THE HUSBAND'S EEPLY. 241 

And thou, a moon to gild the night, 

When darkness covers me; 
And gentle words, and balmy smiles. 
Be rainbow hues to arch our skies. 




21 



PANDORA. 



My lyre has been silent long; 
Pandora now shall be my song, 
The first of mortal women giv'n, 
By Jupiter, the king of heav'n: 
Her Vulcan fashioned with his art 
To win Prometheus^ cunning heart, 
To punish whom, was Jove's desire, 
Because he stole the sacred fire: 
All beautiful was she to see, 
Pretty, just like a flow'ry tree; 
Venus made her very grandsome. 
Gave her features very handsome; 
The Graces gave her polish 'd ease. 
That in her ways she all might please; 



(242) 



PANDORA. 243 

Apollo taught her how to sing 
Sweeter than the birds of Spring *; 
And Mercury taught her eloquence, 
That rais'd her high in eminence; 
And pluni'd Minerva, all divine, 
Gave her jewels, extremely fine; 
While Jupiter, the Elysian fox, 
Gave her a splendid, golden box. 

And now she goes to catch a beau; 

Prometheus she seeks to woo; 

But the old cunning fire stealer, 

Had no thoughts of dealing with her ; 

He saw the motive thro' and thro' 

And so would have no interview; 

But Epimetheus, his brother. 

Fell in love, some way or other, 

And when some time, they lived together, 

And their love grew hard as leather; 

She thought one day, she'd raise the lid. 

To see what in the box was hid; 

Where evils swarm'd of every grade. 

As bees are wont in vernal shade : 



244 



PANDOEA. 



And frightened, for her home alone, 

She dropp'd the lid, ere Hope had flown. 



Many Pandoras walk them here, 

With rosy cheek, and flaxen hair; 

With jewels, and with manners sweet, 

Whom every now and then, we meet. 

Who in our marriage, raise the lid. 

Where evils quiet, lay them hid. 

Which rushing out, like frighten'd bees, 

Begin our spirit^s peace to tease; 

And were it not, that Hope is ours. 

Some married lives would boast few flowers. 



u 



LOVE IN A COTTAGE." 



[Mr. N. P. Willis, in a short poem, deprecates love in a cottage — that love 
delights in fine dinners, fine carpets, and all the elegance of modern refine- 
ment — that cottage beds are not comfortable, that you wake up in the night, 
with a bug in your ear, and that cottage girls haA'e too large a share of 
simplicity.] 



Mr. Willis may say, what he likes, 

Of love in palace or city. 
Of ottomans, sofas, and mirrors, 

And harp, with amorous ditty; 
He may talk of the sweets of sleeping 

On couches of velvet and gold. 
And carpets, lace, fringes and trimmings. 

And pictures, both modern and old, 

21^ (245) 



2i6 "LOVE IN A COTTAGE." 

He may praise the artful flirtation, 

The beautiful, lily white hand, 
And the feet, so tiny and pretty. 

And the smiles, bewitch ingly grand ; 
He may talk of dinners and pastries. 

Of goblets all sparkling with wine. 
Of promenades, parties and dances. 

And the maid, "whose hand is in mine." 



He may talk of bouquets and dresses. 

Of diamonds, that dazzle the eye, 
Of mothers, match-making for daughters. 

With those, who are able to buy; 
He may talk of ice creams and juleps. 

Of social refinement and ease. 
Of satin, gloves, muslins and chignons. 

And such other things, as may please. 



But 1^1 speak of love in a cottage, 

Where its walls are trellis'd with vines, 

Where virtue and wisdom are wedded. 
Where truth in its loveliness shines; 



"LOVE IN A COTTAGE/' 247 

Such love, I am sure is the sweetest, 

^Tis pure as the mountain white snow, 

Or stream, embower'd with roses. 

That glides with a musical flow. 



I prefer the love in a cottage — 

I prefer a rosy milk-maid. 
With her sinewy arms and muscles, 

To many the city has made; 
I prefer her far to all others. 

In joys and sorrows, she'll shine, 
And point like needle in compass, 

To hopes, that never decline. 



Then give me the girl in a cottage. 

Whose love will ever abide. 
Whose cheeks are all crimson'd with blushes, 

Whose soul is untainted with pride; 
Who loves among roses to revel, 

And in the green valley to go. 
Whose lips, with sw^eet daisies are scented. 

Whose footsteps are light as the doe. 



THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 



A turkey once a farmer had, 

That laid beneath a vine; 
Both he and wife were very glad 

To see the nest was fine. 

And every other day she went 

A speckled egg to lay, 
And the servant girl was sent 

To take it thence away. 

But, bye and bye, altho' the hen 

Upon the nest she saw, 
Ko eggs she found, tho' due were ten, 

As was to her the law. 



(248) 



THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 249 

The farmer said, this is no fun, 

And, thoughtful, 'gan to pause. 
Then took from ofiP the rack his gun 

To ascertain the cause. 

And he began around to look; 

No trace of pig could see; 
Nor dog, nor any thing he took 

The artful rogue to be. 

One morn a crow lit on a tree, 

Close to the turkey's nest. 
And turned him round in happy glee, 

Smoothing his glossy breast. 

Then to the nest he quickly flew, 

And look'd, what may be seen, 
And dragged from thence, full out to view, 

An egg that there had been. 

And so he pecked it with his bill. 

And suck'd it to the core; 
So saving, he did nothing spill, 

But wished he had some more. 



250 THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 

' And then he turned and raised his head, 
And said, 'tis not so bad; 
For on this egg I breakfasted — 
Yet not a dime I had. 

Cheap living this, I do declare, 

That turkeys for me lay — 
To have fresh eggs, and some to spare, 

And not a cent to pay. 

Oh ! said the farmer, now I know 
Who stole the turkey's egg, 

And I will lay his carcass low, 
Tho' mercy he may beg. 

Just as the farmer raised his gun 

To take a deadly aim, 
Caw, caw, the crow replied in fun. 

You'll not my body maim. 

So the crow, like Adams' Express, 
Did make a rapid flight, 
• Whose ebon form grew less and less. 
Till he was out of sight. 



THE CKOW AND THE FARMER. 251 

Now the farmer, who was cunning, 

All cunning, as it seems. 
Sought to gain him, not by gunning. 

But now by artful schemes. 

Upon a spring-trap, used for rat. 

He fixed a fresh-laid egg; 
And by the turkey's nest it sat, 

To seize him by the leg. 

So in the morn the crow had sought 

To gain an egg, once more. 
On terms as cheap as he had bought. 

The morning just before. 

Close to the trap he did alight. 

Then reconnoitred round. 
And shook his head, with much delight. 

That he an egg had found. 

So glad he could no longer pause. 

But tapp'd the half-hid egg. 
When, lo! the trap, the hidden cause, 

Now seized him by the leg. 



252 THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 

Caw, caw, he cried — release my legs — 

Let me this moment go; 
I always breakfast on fresh eggs — 

Why do you hold me so? 

And so he flutter'd round and round, 
Crushing the half-hid egg; 

But he, this time, a Tartar found. 
That firmly held his leg. 



Caw, caw, he cried, with lust^^ voice — 
Don't crush my leg this way; 

To eat fresh eggs, it is" my choice; 
For them I never pay. 

The farmer, who was wrapp'd in cloak. 

Close to an oaken tree. 
Came to the crow, and said in joke. 

Dear sir, I welcome thee. 

I hope you'll find my hot^l bill 
Full low, at least this time; 

Breakfast you Ve often had at will — 
Yet paid me not a dime. 



THE CROW AND THE FAEMER. 253 

Caw, caw, the crow did quick reply, 

No law, for eating eggs, 
Would ever think to justify 

The maiming of your legs. 

Oh! said the farmer, that will do; 

All rogues will plead a need, — 
Eggs are fine — I love them too ; 

But for the turkey breed. 

We think a Christmas dinner lucky, 

As much as you the eggs; 
And we do value much the turkey, 

As you do now your legs. 

Then to his home the crow he brought, 

And all were pleased to see 
The rogue that had so often sought 

In turkey's nest to be. 

Caw, said the crow, it will not do 

To squeeze me in this way; 
Of flesh and blood I^n made like you — 

Do let me fly away. 

22 



254 THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 

No, said the farmer, I must clip 
These shiny wings of thine, 

Lest you might go abroad and sip 
Some eggs in nest, like mine. 

And so he clipped his glossy wing 
And threw him on the ground — 

A helpless, strange and wingless thing, 
That little friendship found. 

For the old rooster, which was near, 
Crowed — Too-doodle-de-te-do, 

Which his crowship thought, so clear, 
Was meant — How-do-ye-do? 

Caw, caw, to him the crow replied, 
I'm well, except these legs; 

And these, my wings, are clipped beside, 
For eating turkey's eggs. 

Oh! said the fowl, you should be glad: 

I once ate only two; 
And boss became so fiercely mad, 

He nearly ran me thro'. 



THE CROW AND THE FARMER. 255 

I wonder much you got off thus; 

He hates this kind of fun ; 
For turkey eggs he'll make a fuss, 

Or shoot you with his gun. 

Then came a gobbler, puffing, strutting; 

Said, gobble, gobble, go; 
Which the lame crow interpreting. 

What makes you hobble so? 

Caw, said the crow, with limping strut. 

There's a soreness in these legs; 
One morning I had got them cut, 

While feasting on some eggs. 

Why eggs! said the turkey — they are high 

Since Sherman pass'd this way; 
Old boss would blow us to the sky — 

We could not live a day. 

Next came a pigeon, coo-ing, coo-ing. 

Which crow supposed to say, 
What have you been do-ing, do-ing. 

That makes you limp this way? 



256 1HE CROW AND THE FARMER. 

Caw, said the crow, the other day, 

I found a nest of eggs, 
And when I turned to go away, 

I got these crippled legs. 

Eggs! said the pigeon, scarce as gold; 

Things we seldom meet; 
You must have been exceeding bold. 

Such luxuries to eat. 

And now the crow began to look, 
The mistake he had made. 

With eggs that from the nest he took 
Where turkey had them laid. 

So oif he limp'd, with look of woe. 
And hid for shame a time; 

For all the fowls had told him so — 
To eat eggs was a crime. 

Now, day by day, his feathers grew. 
Till he above could soar; 

When far up in the sky he flew — 
Much wiser than before. 



THE CROW AXD THE FARMER. 



257 



His trials gave him knowledge much; 

He learii'd to understand, — 
And from that day would never touch 

An egg half hid in sand. 

And so with you, whoe'er you be. 

If one dark error make. 
Do not repeat it when you see 

How great is your mistake. 




22* 



THE TURKEY AND THE COOK. 



^Twas Christmas morn; and Mrs. Kenny, 
Now told her cook, Miss Spinner, 

To kill the young turkey in the coop, 
And serve it up for dinner. 

For I do, said she, this day expect, 

Mr. and Mrs. Jenny; 
For company more, I do not care; 

No, not a single penny. 

And so Miss Spinner took the turkey 

To see if it were fatter 
Than the old gobbler, strutting near. 



Making a horrid clatter. 



(258) 





1 
THE TURKEY AND THE COOK. 259 


0, 


'tis fat, mam, and I think 'twill do; 




Tho' somewhat small and slender; 


rii 


serve it up in my finest style, 




And make it nice and tender. 


But the turkey, which had borne it long, 




Looked serious on the matter. 


An( 


1 bristling up, with head erect; 




Thus loud began to chatter. 


1 


eave me at large to go; 




Don't rumple up my feathers; 


Noi 


' pull my legs, nor squeeze me so, 




I'm made of flesh, like others. 


o, 


let me go, you lusty cook; 




O let me grow some older. 


And for another turkey, look. 




Or slay that grunting porker. 


I'm 


little over one year old — 




'Tis not enough, Miss Spinner; 


Fra 


small and lean, it must be told — 




Not half enough for dinner. 



260 THE TURKEY AND THE COOK. 


Just see that gobbler in his pride; 


He is, I know, much fatter; 


Let him, thy knife's keen edge abide, 


And hush his noisy clatter. 


I pray thee by my sister hen; 


By sun, that shineth yonder; 


And by that porker in the pen. 


To let me run some longer. 


COOK. 


O, never will I let thee go. 


While I am nam'd, Jane Spinner, 


And soon, I'll lay your carcass low, 


To make our Christmas dinner. 


Fat, 0, very fat, you are. 


Enough for all, I reckon; 


For you will go, I know, quite far, 


With mutton and the bacon. 


It grieves me, turkey, thee to slay; 


But mistress rules the matter; 


You know, that it is Christmas day. 


And I must hush your clatter. 



THE TURKEY AND THE COOK. 



261 



Poor turkey leap'd, a headless thing, 
Right mad with old Miss Spinner, 

And with her kicking feet and wing, 
Curs'd long the Christmas dinner. 



•^-^ 




THE DISAPPOINTED PARSON, 



'Twas in an old house of some widow, 
Where to sleep, the parson was led; 

So dingy the sheet and the pillow, 
He refused to lie on the bed. 

In the room, a candle was burning; 

The night-bugs, allured by the light, 
Came crowding around him and buzzing — 

Quoth he; "'Tis a terrible night/^ 

Flying bats above him w^ere whizzing, 
And roaches paraded the floor, 

And the cat in the corner was sneezing. 
Quoth he, "'tis a terrible bore." 

(262) 



THE DISAPPOINTED PARSON. 263 

But weary, from labour and plodding, 

He sat on an old rocking chair; 
Where he soon fell asleep, and to nodding. 

Unconscious of every thing there. 

But a bug, overhead on the ceiling, 

Dropp'd full on his snowy white hair, 

And he spoke, as he felt its light teasing, 
^'Shoo fly, don't you bodder me here." 

To dreaming, he fell him right handy; 

A man, he saw coming full stride. 
With a jug, all brimming with brandy, 

And bottles of wine at his side. 

The man, for a moment, stood gazing. 
Then held up the jug to the light, 

And pour'd out a bumper amazing, 

" Here's health to the parson, to-night." 

The parson, meantime, him was eyeing, 

And gave a significant wink; 
Tho' dreaming, his features were smiling. 

As if he was offer'd a drink. 



264 THE DISAPPOINTED PARSON. 

The jug on the floor now upsetting; 

The brandy flow'd out in a stream, 
And the liquor, so rosy and tempting, 

Came near, exploding his dream, 

Now the stranger, a bottle uplifted. 

And broke it in front of his chair; 

The parson, tho' dreaming was gifted. 

With a sense of wine, that will cheer. 

So loud in his dreaming, he shouted, 

O, O, that Madeira is fine; 
You ought from this place to be scouted — 

Sir, give me those bottles of wine. 

At your conduct, I much here do wonder ; 

Of liquors, the wine is the cream ; 
Go, bring me the corkscrew and tumbler; 

But he woke to find it a dream. 



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